Chapter #7Next by: Yote   The men linger before the imposing building, none brave enough to approach the front door. You do a quick head count - thirty men, including yourself. The coach engine shudders away into silence and the driver climbs down onto the driveway, rubbing the feeling back into his legs and lighting up a cigarette. "Uh, do we just go straight in?" one of the guys asks awkwardly.
The driver chews on his cigarette and shrugs gruffly. "I just bring you freaks here," he growls with contempt.
It is rather chilly standing out in the open, and eerily quiet. The house and its gardens are skirted all around by a ring of dark pine forest, which itself seems to be located in the bottom of a wide valley judging by the distant, white-capped mountains that make up the horizon. There isn't a sound, not the distant buzz of traffic, just silent emptiness broken by the occasional cry of a bird taking flight.
You pull out your mobile phone. No signal. Shit, you suddenly remember you forgot to tell your boss about the month-long research trip you've found yourself on. He'll no doubt be wondering where you've got to. Hopefully you'll be able to find a landline soon and call him. You just hope he doesn't give the story to somebody else in the meantime. This is going to be your big break, and your quite sure none of the other reporters will give the issue the serious scrutiny it so deserves.
"Anybody else got a signal?" you ask hopefully.
A few pull out their phones. "Nah." "Nope." "Nothin'."
"Where the hell are we anyway?" one of the guys whose name you remember as Pete says. "Scottish Highlands or some shit? Anyone see any signs back there?"
"Certainly cold enough," you reply, hugging yourself for warmth. "What's this then, Hogwarts School for Witches and Wizards?"
"Not so much Wizards..." Pete replies with a dry chuckle.
"Or more like St Trinian's..." one of the young men gulps.
His eyes, trained on the building, have gone wide. Turning, you see the two front doors have been flung wide. The cigarette drops from the coach driver's open mouth. A group of girls file in neat rows between the double doors, stepping demurely down the broad stone stairs and out onto the gravel driveway. They walk five abreast and six deep, thirty girls in total, and move with a synchronicity that is almost eery, the heels of their polished black shoes clacking in perfect unison on the stone steps. They are dressed in a plain blue-and-white uniform standard for a girl's boarding school - pure white stockings rise up to their thighs, meeting the navy blue pinafore that descends to their knees, beneath which they wear a white blouse. About their necks is a white-and-blue striped tie that hangs down between their breasts. Their ages are indeterminate, their faces so heavily obscured with make-up as to be almost doll-like, which a thick layer of foundation, bright red lipstick, and dark eyeshadow. You suspect some might be blushing, though you can't be sure. Certainly a few of them seem to avert their eyes in embarrassment, fluttering their long eyelashes as they stare meekly at the ground.
At the front of the group strides an intimidating figure. What could only be the school mistress steps boldly towards the assembled men. She is tall, very tall, certainly well over six feet and holds herself with a strong, regal bearing that adds further to her stature. She too wears a white blouse beneath a tightly buttoned jacket that strains against a truly momentous bust. Her skirt curves over broad, child-bearing hips down to her ankles. Her attire is practically Victorian, as if, you suspect, the long rod of birch wood held lightly in one hand. Her features are strong and haughty, with a thin, upturned nose, exquisitely arched eyebrows, and steely grey eyes. Her chestnut brown hair is pulled back into a tight bun. She reminds you a great deal of Mary Poppins, if Mary Poppins worked part-time as a dominatrix.
When she speaks, her voice is gentle yet firm, her tone prim. "Come now, girls, don't be shy," she chided the group behind her. "You act as though you've never seen a man before. Step forward and let them see you."
The front row steps forward nervously. Gripping the hems of their pinafores, they curtsy deeply before stepping back to allow the next row to step forward. The men watch them with interest, though a few are staring at them in dawning realisation, surprise and alarm on their faces.
As the last girl finishes her curtsy, the school mistress claps her hands together sharply. "Very good, girls, very good. Now, do as your mistress bids and bring our guests' luggage. Quickly now! They've had a long journey, they don't want to be standing out here all month!"
The girls break ranks and scurry towards the coach, and are soon pulling the suitcases from within the hold. You catch sight of your battered, brown leather case containing your equipment in the hands of a slim blonde girl, and you hurriedly step forward to take it from her hands.
The mistress clucks her tongue. "That's very gallant of you, young man, but there's really no need. I think you'll find the girls are stronger than they look. No need to be a gentleman here. After all, you didn't come here to be taught how to be a gentleman." Reluctantly, you release your hold on the suitcase and watch as the "girl" drags it up the stairs into the house. "And this goes for the rest of you too. All of you are honoured guest here, and for the next week the girls exist only to serve you. They will do everything in their power to make you as comfortable as possible while you ease into your surroundings. I encourage you to use them as you wish often as you can. It is, after all, the final and most important part of their training, learning to serve obediently, and in time it will be yours too."
It took a moment for that to sink in. "Are you telling me those girls we just saw are... men?!" Pete splutters.
She smiles. "Of course. Or... at least, they were. And in a week's time, when they return to their old lives, perhaps they will be again. We shall see." Gesturing the men towards the doorway, she said, "Come. You must be very cold standing out here, and I shall have the girls..."   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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