Emily Abroad... 20 (03/01) - Happy New Year one & all.
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imanewb
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Re: Emily Abroad... poll
Poll added, as we're nearing the point where the story could go several different ways, and I have no preference as to which, wondering how the few (I suspect) people reading along, would like it to develop/progress?
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imanewb
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Re: Emily Abroad... 17b (13/12)
[Note]Thanks to everyone who's voted so far, I'll leave the poll up for a while longer just in case there are any lurkers waiting to cast their vote... small sample, but it looks like it'll be going this way so, without further ado back to the story...[/Note]
He moved, too fast for her to react. Disbelief rendered her speechless as she stood staring, her brain struggling to identify the scrap of material that had appeared in his hand and swiftly disappeared back into the locker room. Adrenalin pumped through her body as he snatched up her arm and half dragged her through the empty hallways.
“Wait here.” He grumbled, dropping her arm as he disappeared through an unmarked door.
Her pulsed hammered in her chest as her mind span wildly – wondering whether she should she wait, or should she run and not look back?
“Good morning Emily,” Emily’s head snapped up as the woman’s voice intruded into her consciousness, “Thank you Scott, I’ll take it from here.”
“I’m Ms. Wellyn, won’t you come in?”
Emily Jane gave the woman a wary look as she stepped inside, debating what trouble she’d get in if she just turned around and ran back to the dorms.
Sighing, Emily Jane stepped into the office and, for the second time that morning, her feet dragged to a halt as she took in the room. Its purpose couldn’t be mistaken, even if she’d only seen such things in movies or on TV before - A shrink’s office was a shrink’s office, it seemed, right down to the soft lighting, the large couch and the softly smiling woman with the dark, mesmerising eyes leant up against the desk watching her like she knew Emily Jane was on the verge of bolting.
“Shrink.” The word slipped past Emily Jane’s lips unbidden in her surprise, her hands covering her mouth as she blushed, wishing she could take the utterance back.
“Right you are,” the woman giggled, easing a little of the tension that had built in Emily Jane’s shoulders, “although it says counsellor on my contract. So come in, take a seat - we might as well be comfortable while we talk.”
Emily Jane couldn’t help but scoff. ‘Comfortable?’ she thought, she hadn’t been comfortable in what felt like forever. And this woman, a counsellor, wanted to talk. Why? What was the point in talking - she already knew all she needed about this awful place to know anything she said would be held against her, and talking wasn’t going to help cover her nudity.
Her nudity… a sharp gasp slipped out and a shame fuelled blush spread over her body as if only just realising that she was bare arsed naked in this woman’s office, having just been dragged through the halls, again!
If Ms. Wellyn noticed the angry, suspicious glances Emily Jane was giving her she didn’t comment on them as she moved to start fussing with a fancy looking coffee machine.
“We were going to meet later this week,” she said over the grinding of coffee beans, “when I’d settled in, but that’s ok. I’m glad Scott brought you in today - I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you, oh coffee?”
Emily Jane barely managed to nod a response while staring slack-jawed at this chatty, seemingly friendly, woman who was so different from all the other adults she’d interacted with at the school. Not that she had any experience of therapists but whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this… she was making her head spin!
“Drink up,” she encouraged a few minutes later, her own coffee now in hand, “I know it’s only been a couple of days, for both of us, but I hear you’ve had a rough start, and it looks like you’ve found yourself in trouble again…”
“No,” she interrupted herself when she noticed Emily Jane stiffen, “I didn’t mean you were in trouble, just that trouble had found you. Sorry, I’m kinda new at this and, I guess, not very good yet.”
“So,” Emily Jane eventually asked, uncomfortable in the silence that followed her admission, “why are you here counselling? Or whatever this is.”
“Well, I wanted to help people, obviously, but why Rosemount? I’m not sure,” she said, “I applied and got the job, maybe no one else wanted to come here, oh,” she covered her mouth, “I’m sorry, that was…”
“True,” Emily Jane interrupted, surprising herself as she stared into her near empty mug, “most people wouldn’t want to be here, I know I don’t.”
The counsellor’s voice sounded so sad when she asked Emily Jane if she’d like to talk about it that she was unable to fight the slight urge she felt to talk, to release a little of the things she’d been bottling up.
“Everything I say in here is confidential, right?” Emily Jane asked timorously, looking up as she debated whether she could trust this woman - wondering how easy it would be to open up, and whether saying something might help.
The counsellor looked up, face serious as she nodded carefully, “Yes, completely confidential, unless you tell me you’re going to burn the school down, or something else like that… then I’d have to tell someone, ok?”
Emily Jane leant forward, studying the woman’s earnest expression. The urge to spill it all was strong, almost overwhelmingly so and, before she knew it, she found she was speaking.
Hesitantly at first, she spoke of the events of the previous few days - relaying the information as if giving a book report, she watched Ms. Wellyn carefully, waiting for the inevitable interruption when she started to lambast the school and the headmaster in particular, the sting of his treatment bringing tears to her eyes as she remembered the way he’d waved aside her protestations over everything that was wrong in her file.
Ms. Wellyn didn’t interrupt though, she just listened, sipping her coffee and making the occasional note. Emily Jane started talking more freely than she had in months, the words she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue even as a creeping sense of unease fell over her. Her throat tightened and her mouth ran dry as her mind flashed back to the party, her diary, then Him.
Suddenly the room was too small, she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to form the words she’d nearly let slip. She leapt to her feet, stumbling as she tried to get out of the wildly spinning room. Her heart started racing, adrenaline flooding through her body, as strong hands held her tight.
“…panic attack, easy now, take slow, even breaths,” The words slowly permeated her awareness as the darkness receded.
“That’s it, welcome back Emily.” She said, helping her back to her feet, “I’ll schedule you an appointment in a couple of days, but I think that’s probably enough for one day… and I think it’d be best if I spoke to Coach Harris about what happened today.”
“Remember,” Ms. Wellyn continued, holding out a bright yellow piece of paper, “my door’s always open if you need to talk but, for now, take this - I’ve excused you for the rest of the morning, why don’t you head back to your dorm and get yourself dressed, and take a nap maybe?”
Emily Jane could only nod numbly as she took the hall pass, not entirely sure what had just happened, or how she’d apparently managed to forget that she was naked, again…
He moved, too fast for her to react. Disbelief rendered her speechless as she stood staring, her brain struggling to identify the scrap of material that had appeared in his hand and swiftly disappeared back into the locker room. Adrenalin pumped through her body as he snatched up her arm and half dragged her through the empty hallways.
“Wait here.” He grumbled, dropping her arm as he disappeared through an unmarked door.
Her pulsed hammered in her chest as her mind span wildly – wondering whether she should she wait, or should she run and not look back?
“Good morning Emily,” Emily’s head snapped up as the woman’s voice intruded into her consciousness, “Thank you Scott, I’ll take it from here.”
“I’m Ms. Wellyn, won’t you come in?”
Emily Jane gave the woman a wary look as she stepped inside, debating what trouble she’d get in if she just turned around and ran back to the dorms.
Sighing, Emily Jane stepped into the office and, for the second time that morning, her feet dragged to a halt as she took in the room. Its purpose couldn’t be mistaken, even if she’d only seen such things in movies or on TV before - A shrink’s office was a shrink’s office, it seemed, right down to the soft lighting, the large couch and the softly smiling woman with the dark, mesmerising eyes leant up against the desk watching her like she knew Emily Jane was on the verge of bolting.
“Shrink.” The word slipped past Emily Jane’s lips unbidden in her surprise, her hands covering her mouth as she blushed, wishing she could take the utterance back.
“Right you are,” the woman giggled, easing a little of the tension that had built in Emily Jane’s shoulders, “although it says counsellor on my contract. So come in, take a seat - we might as well be comfortable while we talk.”
Emily Jane couldn’t help but scoff. ‘Comfortable?’ she thought, she hadn’t been comfortable in what felt like forever. And this woman, a counsellor, wanted to talk. Why? What was the point in talking - she already knew all she needed about this awful place to know anything she said would be held against her, and talking wasn’t going to help cover her nudity.
Her nudity… a sharp gasp slipped out and a shame fuelled blush spread over her body as if only just realising that she was bare arsed naked in this woman’s office, having just been dragged through the halls, again!
If Ms. Wellyn noticed the angry, suspicious glances Emily Jane was giving her she didn’t comment on them as she moved to start fussing with a fancy looking coffee machine.
“We were going to meet later this week,” she said over the grinding of coffee beans, “when I’d settled in, but that’s ok. I’m glad Scott brought you in today - I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you, oh coffee?”
Emily Jane barely managed to nod a response while staring slack-jawed at this chatty, seemingly friendly, woman who was so different from all the other adults she’d interacted with at the school. Not that she had any experience of therapists but whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this… she was making her head spin!
“Drink up,” she encouraged a few minutes later, her own coffee now in hand, “I know it’s only been a couple of days, for both of us, but I hear you’ve had a rough start, and it looks like you’ve found yourself in trouble again…”
“No,” she interrupted herself when she noticed Emily Jane stiffen, “I didn’t mean you were in trouble, just that trouble had found you. Sorry, I’m kinda new at this and, I guess, not very good yet.”
“So,” Emily Jane eventually asked, uncomfortable in the silence that followed her admission, “why are you here counselling? Or whatever this is.”
“Well, I wanted to help people, obviously, but why Rosemount? I’m not sure,” she said, “I applied and got the job, maybe no one else wanted to come here, oh,” she covered her mouth, “I’m sorry, that was…”
“True,” Emily Jane interrupted, surprising herself as she stared into her near empty mug, “most people wouldn’t want to be here, I know I don’t.”
The counsellor’s voice sounded so sad when she asked Emily Jane if she’d like to talk about it that she was unable to fight the slight urge she felt to talk, to release a little of the things she’d been bottling up.
“Everything I say in here is confidential, right?” Emily Jane asked timorously, looking up as she debated whether she could trust this woman - wondering how easy it would be to open up, and whether saying something might help.
The counsellor looked up, face serious as she nodded carefully, “Yes, completely confidential, unless you tell me you’re going to burn the school down, or something else like that… then I’d have to tell someone, ok?”
Emily Jane leant forward, studying the woman’s earnest expression. The urge to spill it all was strong, almost overwhelmingly so and, before she knew it, she found she was speaking.
Hesitantly at first, she spoke of the events of the previous few days - relaying the information as if giving a book report, she watched Ms. Wellyn carefully, waiting for the inevitable interruption when she started to lambast the school and the headmaster in particular, the sting of his treatment bringing tears to her eyes as she remembered the way he’d waved aside her protestations over everything that was wrong in her file.
Ms. Wellyn didn’t interrupt though, she just listened, sipping her coffee and making the occasional note. Emily Jane started talking more freely than she had in months, the words she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue even as a creeping sense of unease fell over her. Her throat tightened and her mouth ran dry as her mind flashed back to the party, her diary, then Him.
Suddenly the room was too small, she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to form the words she’d nearly let slip. She leapt to her feet, stumbling as she tried to get out of the wildly spinning room. Her heart started racing, adrenaline flooding through her body, as strong hands held her tight.
“…panic attack, easy now, take slow, even breaths,” The words slowly permeated her awareness as the darkness receded.
“That’s it, welcome back Emily.” She said, helping her back to her feet, “I’ll schedule you an appointment in a couple of days, but I think that’s probably enough for one day… and I think it’d be best if I spoke to Coach Harris about what happened today.”
“Remember,” Ms. Wellyn continued, holding out a bright yellow piece of paper, “my door’s always open if you need to talk but, for now, take this - I’ve excused you for the rest of the morning, why don’t you head back to your dorm and get yourself dressed, and take a nap maybe?”
Emily Jane could only nod numbly as she took the hall pass, not entirely sure what had just happened, or how she’d apparently managed to forget that she was naked, again…
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imanewb
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Re: Emily Abroad... 18. Life at Full Volume pt. 1 (17/12)
The incessant beeping coming from her tablet slowly dragged Emily Jane back to consciousness. She stared uncomprehending at it for a few moments before working out how to shut off the alarm, all while wondering what she was doing in bed at… a sense of dread washed over her as the digits revealed afternoon classes had started twenty minutes earlier.
Knowing how well her tardiness was likely to go down she groaned as she snatched up her neatly folded uniform and hastily pulled it on, not certain she remembered taking it off. With a quick check of her timetable, she was out the door and heading towards her half-finished maths class.
“Enter!” The teacher’s response to her timid knock on the classroom door wasn’t unexpected, but the absence of any warmth or concern in his tone as he continued had Emily Jane unconsciously stepping back from the man, “Finally decided to grace us with your presence have you Ms. Saunders? And in that state too! Stand still while I’m talking to you for goodness sake!”
But Emily Jane couldn’t stand still, she felt every sweep of his judgmental gaze crawling over her skin like an army of tiny insects, an itchy sensation that she couldn’t shake off no matter how much she fidgeted.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards girl – we can discuss your tardiness once you’ve made yourself presentable, well, what are you waiting for?” He demanded when she didn’t immediately jump into action, “or perhaps you need a hand?”
Head down, a hot flush spread over her chest as her shaking fingers undid the top two buttons on her shirt revealing the lacy trim on her bra. Her mouth ran dry, and her fingers stilled as she looked over the rest of the garment, at least two more buttons were misaligned. Undoing those, she knew, would have her flashing her teacher.
“Too slow,” he said as he grasped the hem of her shirt and began lifting it, “arms up!”
Emily Jane squirmed, fighting to keep her feet still as she jerked her hands skywards even as she wondered why she was meekly going along with this, knowing she should feel angry at the violation, yet unable to think of anything other than the itchiness that seemed to be spreading as the fabric rose and her skin was exposed to the air-conditioned room.
The tingling spread as the shirt bunched around her face, temporarily distracting her from whatever it was the teacher was saying to her.
The ‘snick’ echoed round the silent classroom and Emily Jane bit back a soft moan as fabric scrapped across her sensitive nipples, trying to focus on standing completely still as she fought the instinct to scream and fight for the bra she knew had just been removed.
Emily Jane took in a few deep breaths when the shirt finished its journey past her head, taking the suffocating darkness with it and leaving her watching her shirt dropping to the floor while her bra swung like a pendulum as it dangled from her teacher’s hand.
“Underwear,” he said with a sneer, “should be plain, aren’t you too old for my little pony?”
Unable to stop herself from answering, Emily Jane looked up and muttered a reply.
“Speak up Ms. Saunders,” the teacher demanded with a gleam in his eye, “tell everyone why you’re wearing little kids’ underwear.”
“That,” she gulped, “is all the store had that would fit.”
“Matching set was it?” He asked as a ripple of laughter shot round the room.
The air in the room seemed to crackle with anticipation as Emily Jane slowly nodded. Goosebumps spread over her entire body as he whirled her around to face the class, her hands flying to cover her crotch as her skirt was unceremoniously dragged over her hips to pool at her ankles.
“Enough of that!” the teacher said as he pulled her arms to her sides, “you just keep those hands right there.”
“B-b-buttt,” Emily Jane stuttered, “everyone can see m-m-my…”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” he interrupted, sliding his fingers under her waistband and yanking the last item protecting her modesty away, “these will be disposed of with your bra.”
Naked other than her shoes and facing a class braying with mocking laughter, her blush deepened until her face was as bright as a cherry tomato as she realised what many seemed to be staring at. She was sure news of the henna artwork would spread far and wide after this display, the familiar feelings of anger and hatred flared and, unexpectedly, swiftly died away - leaving her more confused than ever.
Without warning, her teacher reached round and cupped a breast. “Hmm,” he purred, “like breasts, only smaller. It’s no wonder you have to shop in the kids’ aisle! But now that I have your attention, perhaps you can explain why you were so late?”
She blinked back the red-hot tears that threatened to fall as her tongue tied itself in knots, why had she been late? She could barely think past the brain-fog being paraded in front of the class had created, nor the burning itch that was spreading and had her wanting to tear away at her skin until the crawling sensation was all gone.
She knew ‘I was asleep’ wouldn’t be deemed satisfactory, however honest, not when she couldn’t remember why she was in bed in the first place. After a few seconds that felt like hours to the exposed girl she gave the only answer she could, an uncertain shrug.
“Very well,” her teacher announced solemnly, “thank you for volunteering. Now class, turn to the back of your books, find a blank page and title it ‘Emily Jane Saunders’.”
A few of the kids giggled, having witnessed this particular punishment previously, but most followed along wondering just what was going to happen next.
“Take a moment to really look at Ms. Saunders here,” the teacher carried on, “and write down your estimates of her height, weight, volume and any other external measurements you’d care to verify. The most accurate will win a prize.”
While the class scrutinised Emily Jane the teacher picked up his student’s discarded clothing before setting out a range of tape measures and callipers for the second part of this activity. He grumbled to himself as he rubbed his hands down his trousers again, the mild itchy feeling worsening as he waited for the class to be ready.
“Time’s up,” he said, “let’s begin…”
“Stand still!” he snapped, patience wearing thin with the squirming girl as she writhed around rubbing herself against the boy leaning past her to mark her height on the wall like a cat in heat.
Emily Jane tried to comply with his demands, she really did, but she couldn’t resist scraping her back against the rough wall, chasing the burning itch as it evaded all her efforts to obliterate it.
“Enough,” he barked as he turned back from the whiteboard where the rough outline he’d drawn was barely recognisable as human thanks to the way his hands were twitching and burning. He picked two ‘volunteers’ with a nod of his head, “Hold her still, everyone else line up and take turns to measure one part of her body, put the measurements on the whiteboard to calculate an approximate volume. I’ll be right back.”
Hands clamped her against the wall as her limbs were pulled one way and then another. The hands grabbing at her body, measuring her every curve and contour, made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear. She closed her eyes, silently praying for the torment to end, knowing it would continue at least until the teacher returned.
Unable to move, she couldn’t ease the itch or escape the groping fingers – she soon lost track of the number of fingers that ‘accidentally’ slipped into her kitty as the over eager kids ‘checked and rechecked’ her inside leg, or the hands that lifted and parted her butt cheeks so that they formed ‘perfect hemispheres’.
Each passing moment brought new indignities until, silent tears falling, some joker pinched her lips and started flapping them about like the world’s worst ventriloquist as he pitched his voice high and mocked her body before offering up each of her holes on a buy one, get one free basis.
Through the haze of pain and humiliation, Emily Jane became aware of the gentle yet persistent pressure against her belly button. It felt wet, and her body shuddered in revulsion as she realised someone was licking her.
A door slammed and the pressure holding her back suddenly released, allowing her to drop to the floor and curl up in a ball. She wrapped her arms around herself and softly rocked, her eyes popping wide in pain as her fingers brushed against her back.
She looked around the near silent room, following their eyes back to their teacher standing beside the door, an indecipherable expression fixed on his face.
“Sit!” He commanded, before turning his gaze towards her, “Ms. Saunders, I…”
The ringing of bell interrupted whatever it was he was about to say and broke the spell holding Emily Jane in place. She stood on shaky legs, snatched up her bag and ran from the room heedless to the cries that followed her into the corridor.
Knowing how well her tardiness was likely to go down she groaned as she snatched up her neatly folded uniform and hastily pulled it on, not certain she remembered taking it off. With a quick check of her timetable, she was out the door and heading towards her half-finished maths class.
“Enter!” The teacher’s response to her timid knock on the classroom door wasn’t unexpected, but the absence of any warmth or concern in his tone as he continued had Emily Jane unconsciously stepping back from the man, “Finally decided to grace us with your presence have you Ms. Saunders? And in that state too! Stand still while I’m talking to you for goodness sake!”
But Emily Jane couldn’t stand still, she felt every sweep of his judgmental gaze crawling over her skin like an army of tiny insects, an itchy sensation that she couldn’t shake off no matter how much she fidgeted.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards girl – we can discuss your tardiness once you’ve made yourself presentable, well, what are you waiting for?” He demanded when she didn’t immediately jump into action, “or perhaps you need a hand?”
Head down, a hot flush spread over her chest as her shaking fingers undid the top two buttons on her shirt revealing the lacy trim on her bra. Her mouth ran dry, and her fingers stilled as she looked over the rest of the garment, at least two more buttons were misaligned. Undoing those, she knew, would have her flashing her teacher.
“Too slow,” he said as he grasped the hem of her shirt and began lifting it, “arms up!”
Emily Jane squirmed, fighting to keep her feet still as she jerked her hands skywards even as she wondered why she was meekly going along with this, knowing she should feel angry at the violation, yet unable to think of anything other than the itchiness that seemed to be spreading as the fabric rose and her skin was exposed to the air-conditioned room.
The tingling spread as the shirt bunched around her face, temporarily distracting her from whatever it was the teacher was saying to her.
The ‘snick’ echoed round the silent classroom and Emily Jane bit back a soft moan as fabric scrapped across her sensitive nipples, trying to focus on standing completely still as she fought the instinct to scream and fight for the bra she knew had just been removed.
Emily Jane took in a few deep breaths when the shirt finished its journey past her head, taking the suffocating darkness with it and leaving her watching her shirt dropping to the floor while her bra swung like a pendulum as it dangled from her teacher’s hand.
“Underwear,” he said with a sneer, “should be plain, aren’t you too old for my little pony?”
Unable to stop herself from answering, Emily Jane looked up and muttered a reply.
“Speak up Ms. Saunders,” the teacher demanded with a gleam in his eye, “tell everyone why you’re wearing little kids’ underwear.”
“That,” she gulped, “is all the store had that would fit.”
“Matching set was it?” He asked as a ripple of laughter shot round the room.
The air in the room seemed to crackle with anticipation as Emily Jane slowly nodded. Goosebumps spread over her entire body as he whirled her around to face the class, her hands flying to cover her crotch as her skirt was unceremoniously dragged over her hips to pool at her ankles.
“Enough of that!” the teacher said as he pulled her arms to her sides, “you just keep those hands right there.”
“B-b-buttt,” Emily Jane stuttered, “everyone can see m-m-my…”
“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” he interrupted, sliding his fingers under her waistband and yanking the last item protecting her modesty away, “these will be disposed of with your bra.”
Naked other than her shoes and facing a class braying with mocking laughter, her blush deepened until her face was as bright as a cherry tomato as she realised what many seemed to be staring at. She was sure news of the henna artwork would spread far and wide after this display, the familiar feelings of anger and hatred flared and, unexpectedly, swiftly died away - leaving her more confused than ever.
Without warning, her teacher reached round and cupped a breast. “Hmm,” he purred, “like breasts, only smaller. It’s no wonder you have to shop in the kids’ aisle! But now that I have your attention, perhaps you can explain why you were so late?”
She blinked back the red-hot tears that threatened to fall as her tongue tied itself in knots, why had she been late? She could barely think past the brain-fog being paraded in front of the class had created, nor the burning itch that was spreading and had her wanting to tear away at her skin until the crawling sensation was all gone.
She knew ‘I was asleep’ wouldn’t be deemed satisfactory, however honest, not when she couldn’t remember why she was in bed in the first place. After a few seconds that felt like hours to the exposed girl she gave the only answer she could, an uncertain shrug.
“Very well,” her teacher announced solemnly, “thank you for volunteering. Now class, turn to the back of your books, find a blank page and title it ‘Emily Jane Saunders’.”
A few of the kids giggled, having witnessed this particular punishment previously, but most followed along wondering just what was going to happen next.
“Take a moment to really look at Ms. Saunders here,” the teacher carried on, “and write down your estimates of her height, weight, volume and any other external measurements you’d care to verify. The most accurate will win a prize.”
While the class scrutinised Emily Jane the teacher picked up his student’s discarded clothing before setting out a range of tape measures and callipers for the second part of this activity. He grumbled to himself as he rubbed his hands down his trousers again, the mild itchy feeling worsening as he waited for the class to be ready.
“Time’s up,” he said, “let’s begin…”
“Stand still!” he snapped, patience wearing thin with the squirming girl as she writhed around rubbing herself against the boy leaning past her to mark her height on the wall like a cat in heat.
Emily Jane tried to comply with his demands, she really did, but she couldn’t resist scraping her back against the rough wall, chasing the burning itch as it evaded all her efforts to obliterate it.
“Enough,” he barked as he turned back from the whiteboard where the rough outline he’d drawn was barely recognisable as human thanks to the way his hands were twitching and burning. He picked two ‘volunteers’ with a nod of his head, “Hold her still, everyone else line up and take turns to measure one part of her body, put the measurements on the whiteboard to calculate an approximate volume. I’ll be right back.”
Hands clamped her against the wall as her limbs were pulled one way and then another. The hands grabbing at her body, measuring her every curve and contour, made her want to curl up into a ball and disappear. She closed her eyes, silently praying for the torment to end, knowing it would continue at least until the teacher returned.
Unable to move, she couldn’t ease the itch or escape the groping fingers – she soon lost track of the number of fingers that ‘accidentally’ slipped into her kitty as the over eager kids ‘checked and rechecked’ her inside leg, or the hands that lifted and parted her butt cheeks so that they formed ‘perfect hemispheres’.
Each passing moment brought new indignities until, silent tears falling, some joker pinched her lips and started flapping them about like the world’s worst ventriloquist as he pitched his voice high and mocked her body before offering up each of her holes on a buy one, get one free basis.
Through the haze of pain and humiliation, Emily Jane became aware of the gentle yet persistent pressure against her belly button. It felt wet, and her body shuddered in revulsion as she realised someone was licking her.
A door slammed and the pressure holding her back suddenly released, allowing her to drop to the floor and curl up in a ball. She wrapped her arms around herself and softly rocked, her eyes popping wide in pain as her fingers brushed against her back.
She looked around the near silent room, following their eyes back to their teacher standing beside the door, an indecipherable expression fixed on his face.
“Sit!” He commanded, before turning his gaze towards her, “Ms. Saunders, I…”
The ringing of bell interrupted whatever it was he was about to say and broke the spell holding Emily Jane in place. She stood on shaky legs, snatched up her bag and ran from the room heedless to the cries that followed her into the corridor.
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imanewb
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Emily Abroad... 19 Life at full volume, pt. 2 (23/12)
[Note]Oops, forgot to update the index post with the last part... my bad... Anyhow, Happy Christmas one & all[/Note]
“Owie!” The girl hadn’t yet looked up from where she’d landed, her eyes locked on her knee as she prodded around the joint and groaned, either unaware of, or not caring about the display she was putting on for anyone who cared to look.
“Sorry, so sorry,” Emily Jane spluttered as she fidgeted, “I didn’t see you there… are you, umm, ok?”
“Only hurts when I prod it,” the girl announced sheepishly, pausing when she finally looked up at the person who’d knocked her flat on her backside.
“Oh, it hurts so bad!” She moaned through an exaggerated grimace as she reached out towards Emily Jane, “I think I better visit the infirmary, help me up?”
Her hand paused, not even halfway to Emily Jane’s outstretched hand, her eyes widening as if she’d suddenly realised something, the sly grin that formed before she continued sending little spikes of nervousness through Emily Jane, “but I wouldn’t want to get you in more trouble… I mean, you’re already naked… so maybe you should help me out instead…”
Emily Jane groaned, her concern for the girl on the floor warring with the knowledge of how this school dealt with ‘trouble’. “I don’t know,” was all she managed to say before they were interrupted.
“Ms. Saunders, Ms. Sinclair, what’s going on out here?”
The silence hung heavily between the girls as the teacher drew closer. The girl on the floor, Ms. Sinclair, looked enquiringly at Emily Jane who hesitated, uncertain what it was she was agreeing to but unable to deny the girl’s request, nodded minutely moments before the teacher came to rest before them.
“I tripped,” the girl lied as she grabbed Emily Jane’s hand and pulled herself to her feet, “she just stopped to give me a hand.”
As soon as she was standing, the girl leant heavily against Emily Jane draping an arm over her shoulder for support - the ‘insects-crawling-over-her-skin’ sensation intensified as Emily Jane’s skin warmed under the other girl’s touch until it was all she could focus on.
“Thanks doll, let’s get to class, I’m Cathy by the way,” the girl chatted away idly as they hobbled towards the classroom, “and you’re gonna be my little helper, right?”
Cathy’s fingertips briefly closed around a nipple as they walked through the classroom door - Emily Jane stiffened briefly, before brushing aside the touch as accidental, Cathy’s hand swinging side to side with their disjointed motions. The girls paused and looked round the art studio before hurrying to the only free seats as quickly as they could.
“Thank you Ms. Chambers,” the teacher spoke as Emily Jane settled Cathy behind an easel, “now, up you come...”
Emily Jane dropped her bag on the seat next to Cathy and, scratching the incessant itch, looked at the teacher curiously. Before she could ask any questions, however, the teacher patted the long, padded bench-like seat on the raised platform, beckoning her forwards as she continued speaking, “…so glad you came prepared, just get yourself comfortable, poses will be ten minutes each with a few minutes to stretch out any kinks in between, we’ll break for drinks after three or four positions…”
“Poses?” Emily Jane’s asked unintelligently, cheeks burning bright red and feet grinding to a halt as she felt every eye suddenly fixed on her as she stared uncomprehending at the teacher.
“Yes, yes,” the woman said as she reached out and pulled Emily Jane towards the stage, “such a pretty girl, you’ll be a great model… now, sit down, make yourself comfortable… drop your arm, good, bend your knee and turn your head…”
“Stop that!” Emily Jane finally protested, resisting as the woman tried slipping another loop around her arm, “You can’t string me up here for everyone to stare at!”
“You’ll be fine,” the teacher declared sounding confused, “the supports will help you hold the poses and,” she continued, lowering her voice so only Emily Jane could hear, “it’s too late to change your mind now Ms. Saunders - you volunteered, I’d rather we keep things amicable but…”
“But what,” Emily Jane interrupted, struggling against the strapping, “you’ll force me? You’re as bad, no worse than the other sadists here…”
The class erupted with shocked gasps; the woman opened her mouth but remained silent for several seconds as she stared down at Emily Jane.
“Well,” she said eventually, tersely pulling the cords taught before Emily Jane could react, “let’s see if we can’t adjust that attitude… that’s two demerits and…”
Emily Jane panicked as she felt herself being pulled upright by her wrists, her heart rate picking up as her feet left the floor. She barely registered the other straps as they were fastened around her limbs, her legs twitched involuntarily as the straps pulled taut, leaving her barely able to move.
Every eye seemed to be focussed on her helpless form as her muscles tensed and relaxed, fighting futilely against her restraints. Angry tears threatened to fall as a gag was pressed between her snapping teeth, each strangled breath barely filling her lungs until darkness pressed at the edges of her vision.
The teacher turned away from her and back to the class, her voice seeming to drift further and further away, becoming distant as if coming from another world entirely but, somehow, she knew every word was directed at her.
Embarrassment flooded through her veins, causing her cheeks to burn bright red as she closed her eyes, trying to escape the class’s hungry stares as the teacher detailed her body's curves and flaws. A thin line of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth as the description progressed, dripping slowly onto her chest where it mixed with beads of sweat dotting her exposed flesh.
Her eyes suddenly flew open as fingers trailed over her stomach, goosebumps rising in their wake. Her eyes met Cathy’s, looking back at her sympathetically from her desk as the other students closed around her, before seeking out the instructor. The evil bitch was smiling as the kids around her started pinching, squeezing, fondling whatever parts of her they could reach. Hands slid over her ribcage and thighs, grabbing roughly at the soft flesh as she squirmed pathetically.
Someone roughly grasped a breast, scoffing at its size. The kid’s laughter filled her ears, echoing painfully inside her skull as the assault on her body intensified. Their hands didn't stop, relentlessly exploring every inch of her skin as they moved freely around her helpless form.
It took everything she had not to scream into the gag as their rough hands continued exploring until the teacher finally sent them back to their desks whilst telling them what to do next.
“Now you’ve all got to know our model a little, divide your page into four panels, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to produce four sketches of,” she turned, scrutinising Emily Jane as she spoke, “her breasts, if you managed to find them, her baby smooth pubic area, her eyes,” the teacher stuttered at whatever it was she saw in Emily Jane’s expression, “a-and dealer’s choice… be sure to label each panel appropriately - Emily Jane’s baby cunt, for example… and begin.”
The fury that’d coursed through Emily Jane slowly ebbed as she tired from struggling uselessly against the restraints binding her. Her only comfort came from the way the teacher busied herself with the other students, refusing to even look back at her until the clock finally signalled the end of the first activity.
Emily Jane’s arms fell leaden by her side as the teacher slackened the supports, allowing her feet to fully touch the ground for the first time in what felt like forever. Students milled around, chatting and looking at each other’s work while she stubbornly ignored the woman, turning her head away from the proffered bottle of water, focussing instead on the dull throb of blood returning to her extremities to drown out the comments coming from the peanut gallery, resigned to waiting for whatever came next.
She didn’t have to wait long. With an impatient sigh, the teacher orchestrated her repositioning by two of her fellow students until she found herself reclined against the back of the chaise, torso twisted towards the class with one foot flat on the floor and the other on the seat, her knee bent almost to her chest - posed and held, as she overheard, like Balthus’s Therese on a Bench(see end), not that she had any idea who that was.
The only consolation, little that it was, in this and the positions that followed was that her thighs remained pressed tightly together, keeping prying eyes away from her kitty for the rest of the class.
Relief washed over Emily Jane as the bell rang signalling the end of the tortuous hour she’d spent being objectified and humiliated in front of her classmates. The other students took their time leaving, casting dispirited glances her way as the teacher shooed them from the studio.
The classroom grew quieter until only Cathy and the teacher remained, heads bowed together, the susurrations of their whispered conversation drowned out by the ticking of the clock. Emily Jane’s unease and confusion grew as she watched the pair glancing at her before the older woman stood and walked briskly from the room.
Cathy slowly stood and stretched languidly before walking towards Emily Jane, her eyes glinted with amusement and a wry smile tugged at her lips as she brushed matted hair from the bound girl’s face before untying the gag.
“You want out,” She stated breathily, and completely unnecessarily as far as Emily Jane was concerned, continuing without giving her a chance to respond, “and I want something to remember that class by, so are you going to be a good girl for me, or do we have to do this the hard way?”
“Too slow,” Cathy grinned salaciously when Emily Jane didn’t respond immediately, reaching up and placing a gentle hand on either side of her jaw and gently shaking her head before backing away. Emily Jane’s skin prickled with the loss of contact, icy fingers of dread running up and down her spine as she watched the dark-haired girl rummaging through supplies stored at the back of the room.
Cathy didn’t want to hurry but knew her time was limited. Her eyes flickered across Emily Jane’s flushed features, studying the subtle shift of muscles as she swallowed heavily.
"There, there," Cathy soothed as she slipped the gag back into place, “now relax and let’s get this done…”
She leaned closer, practically hovering above Emily Jane as she reached for the control pad. The gentle whir of the motors was the only warning Emily Jane got before she felt herself being pulled into the air. Cathy quickly slid the thick metal bars into place to take Emily’s weight, arching her back and pushing her chest out.
“Look at that,” she smirked, “they’re almost like real tits now, just one more adjustment…”
Cathy stepped back and surveyed her handiwork as Emily Jane’s lean legs parted, her naked pubis slowly exposed revealing a petite, perpendicular crack, framed between two smooth, fleshy lips. Emily Jane, unable to resist the pull of the motors, soon found her legs spread into a wide V - she closed her eyes and let her head drop back, whimpering softly behind the gag as her most intimate flesh was displayed under the bright lights for the other girl to savour.
Cathy stepped between her legs, watching gleefully as they moved further and wider, until Emily Jane was in an almost perfect side split - stopping the motors only when her outer lips widened and her inner lips pulled slowly apart, gaping open. She stood mesmerised for a moment as the pink interior glistened before her.
Emily Jane felt the brush of Cathy’s breath as the girl leant forward and sniffed at her opening. She felt like a piece of meat, a cheap whore, so wantonly displayed like this - she was getting lightheaded as her breathing grew more laboured, her anxiety worsening as adrenalin continued to flood through her body until her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest.
She would have jumped out of her skin if she was able to move when she felt the cold liquid being brushed over her lips and round her puckered anus.
“There,” Cathy crooned as she pressed paper into Emily’s paint slicked folds, “a couple of prints for my wall and,” the rapid click, click, click of a shutter broke through the buzzing in Emily Jane’s ears, “a little something for the wank bank… and down you go!”
Emily Jane landed uncomfortably on the stage, her legs snapping together as the tension in the cables finally disappeared, allowing her to curl up in a ball. Her tears finally broke through while she lay there, trembling as the significance of Cathy’s words registered. She clawed at the gag, desperate to get it out of her mouth as she fought back the overwhelming urge to throw up, bile rising volcanically as she wondered just what Cathy had planned for those photos.
Balthus's (Balthasar Klossowski, 1908-2001) Thérèse on a Bench
“Owie!” The girl hadn’t yet looked up from where she’d landed, her eyes locked on her knee as she prodded around the joint and groaned, either unaware of, or not caring about the display she was putting on for anyone who cared to look.
“Sorry, so sorry,” Emily Jane spluttered as she fidgeted, “I didn’t see you there… are you, umm, ok?”
“Only hurts when I prod it,” the girl announced sheepishly, pausing when she finally looked up at the person who’d knocked her flat on her backside.
“Oh, it hurts so bad!” She moaned through an exaggerated grimace as she reached out towards Emily Jane, “I think I better visit the infirmary, help me up?”
Her hand paused, not even halfway to Emily Jane’s outstretched hand, her eyes widening as if she’d suddenly realised something, the sly grin that formed before she continued sending little spikes of nervousness through Emily Jane, “but I wouldn’t want to get you in more trouble… I mean, you’re already naked… so maybe you should help me out instead…”
Emily Jane groaned, her concern for the girl on the floor warring with the knowledge of how this school dealt with ‘trouble’. “I don’t know,” was all she managed to say before they were interrupted.
“Ms. Saunders, Ms. Sinclair, what’s going on out here?”
The silence hung heavily between the girls as the teacher drew closer. The girl on the floor, Ms. Sinclair, looked enquiringly at Emily Jane who hesitated, uncertain what it was she was agreeing to but unable to deny the girl’s request, nodded minutely moments before the teacher came to rest before them.
“I tripped,” the girl lied as she grabbed Emily Jane’s hand and pulled herself to her feet, “she just stopped to give me a hand.”
As soon as she was standing, the girl leant heavily against Emily Jane draping an arm over her shoulder for support - the ‘insects-crawling-over-her-skin’ sensation intensified as Emily Jane’s skin warmed under the other girl’s touch until it was all she could focus on.
“Thanks doll, let’s get to class, I’m Cathy by the way,” the girl chatted away idly as they hobbled towards the classroom, “and you’re gonna be my little helper, right?”
Cathy’s fingertips briefly closed around a nipple as they walked through the classroom door - Emily Jane stiffened briefly, before brushing aside the touch as accidental, Cathy’s hand swinging side to side with their disjointed motions. The girls paused and looked round the art studio before hurrying to the only free seats as quickly as they could.
“Thank you Ms. Chambers,” the teacher spoke as Emily Jane settled Cathy behind an easel, “now, up you come...”
Emily Jane dropped her bag on the seat next to Cathy and, scratching the incessant itch, looked at the teacher curiously. Before she could ask any questions, however, the teacher patted the long, padded bench-like seat on the raised platform, beckoning her forwards as she continued speaking, “…so glad you came prepared, just get yourself comfortable, poses will be ten minutes each with a few minutes to stretch out any kinks in between, we’ll break for drinks after three or four positions…”
“Poses?” Emily Jane’s asked unintelligently, cheeks burning bright red and feet grinding to a halt as she felt every eye suddenly fixed on her as she stared uncomprehending at the teacher.
“Yes, yes,” the woman said as she reached out and pulled Emily Jane towards the stage, “such a pretty girl, you’ll be a great model… now, sit down, make yourself comfortable… drop your arm, good, bend your knee and turn your head…”
“Stop that!” Emily Jane finally protested, resisting as the woman tried slipping another loop around her arm, “You can’t string me up here for everyone to stare at!”
“You’ll be fine,” the teacher declared sounding confused, “the supports will help you hold the poses and,” she continued, lowering her voice so only Emily Jane could hear, “it’s too late to change your mind now Ms. Saunders - you volunteered, I’d rather we keep things amicable but…”
“But what,” Emily Jane interrupted, struggling against the strapping, “you’ll force me? You’re as bad, no worse than the other sadists here…”
The class erupted with shocked gasps; the woman opened her mouth but remained silent for several seconds as she stared down at Emily Jane.
“Well,” she said eventually, tersely pulling the cords taught before Emily Jane could react, “let’s see if we can’t adjust that attitude… that’s two demerits and…”
Emily Jane panicked as she felt herself being pulled upright by her wrists, her heart rate picking up as her feet left the floor. She barely registered the other straps as they were fastened around her limbs, her legs twitched involuntarily as the straps pulled taut, leaving her barely able to move.
Every eye seemed to be focussed on her helpless form as her muscles tensed and relaxed, fighting futilely against her restraints. Angry tears threatened to fall as a gag was pressed between her snapping teeth, each strangled breath barely filling her lungs until darkness pressed at the edges of her vision.
The teacher turned away from her and back to the class, her voice seeming to drift further and further away, becoming distant as if coming from another world entirely but, somehow, she knew every word was directed at her.
Embarrassment flooded through her veins, causing her cheeks to burn bright red as she closed her eyes, trying to escape the class’s hungry stares as the teacher detailed her body's curves and flaws. A thin line of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth as the description progressed, dripping slowly onto her chest where it mixed with beads of sweat dotting her exposed flesh.
Her eyes suddenly flew open as fingers trailed over her stomach, goosebumps rising in their wake. Her eyes met Cathy’s, looking back at her sympathetically from her desk as the other students closed around her, before seeking out the instructor. The evil bitch was smiling as the kids around her started pinching, squeezing, fondling whatever parts of her they could reach. Hands slid over her ribcage and thighs, grabbing roughly at the soft flesh as she squirmed pathetically.
Someone roughly grasped a breast, scoffing at its size. The kid’s laughter filled her ears, echoing painfully inside her skull as the assault on her body intensified. Their hands didn't stop, relentlessly exploring every inch of her skin as they moved freely around her helpless form.
It took everything she had not to scream into the gag as their rough hands continued exploring until the teacher finally sent them back to their desks whilst telling them what to do next.
“Now you’ve all got to know our model a little, divide your page into four panels, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to produce four sketches of,” she turned, scrutinising Emily Jane as she spoke, “her breasts, if you managed to find them, her baby smooth pubic area, her eyes,” the teacher stuttered at whatever it was she saw in Emily Jane’s expression, “a-and dealer’s choice… be sure to label each panel appropriately - Emily Jane’s baby cunt, for example… and begin.”
The fury that’d coursed through Emily Jane slowly ebbed as she tired from struggling uselessly against the restraints binding her. Her only comfort came from the way the teacher busied herself with the other students, refusing to even look back at her until the clock finally signalled the end of the first activity.
Emily Jane’s arms fell leaden by her side as the teacher slackened the supports, allowing her feet to fully touch the ground for the first time in what felt like forever. Students milled around, chatting and looking at each other’s work while she stubbornly ignored the woman, turning her head away from the proffered bottle of water, focussing instead on the dull throb of blood returning to her extremities to drown out the comments coming from the peanut gallery, resigned to waiting for whatever came next.
She didn’t have to wait long. With an impatient sigh, the teacher orchestrated her repositioning by two of her fellow students until she found herself reclined against the back of the chaise, torso twisted towards the class with one foot flat on the floor and the other on the seat, her knee bent almost to her chest - posed and held, as she overheard, like Balthus’s Therese on a Bench(see end), not that she had any idea who that was.
The only consolation, little that it was, in this and the positions that followed was that her thighs remained pressed tightly together, keeping prying eyes away from her kitty for the rest of the class.
Relief washed over Emily Jane as the bell rang signalling the end of the tortuous hour she’d spent being objectified and humiliated in front of her classmates. The other students took their time leaving, casting dispirited glances her way as the teacher shooed them from the studio.
The classroom grew quieter until only Cathy and the teacher remained, heads bowed together, the susurrations of their whispered conversation drowned out by the ticking of the clock. Emily Jane’s unease and confusion grew as she watched the pair glancing at her before the older woman stood and walked briskly from the room.
Cathy slowly stood and stretched languidly before walking towards Emily Jane, her eyes glinted with amusement and a wry smile tugged at her lips as she brushed matted hair from the bound girl’s face before untying the gag.
“You want out,” She stated breathily, and completely unnecessarily as far as Emily Jane was concerned, continuing without giving her a chance to respond, “and I want something to remember that class by, so are you going to be a good girl for me, or do we have to do this the hard way?”
“Too slow,” Cathy grinned salaciously when Emily Jane didn’t respond immediately, reaching up and placing a gentle hand on either side of her jaw and gently shaking her head before backing away. Emily Jane’s skin prickled with the loss of contact, icy fingers of dread running up and down her spine as she watched the dark-haired girl rummaging through supplies stored at the back of the room.
Cathy didn’t want to hurry but knew her time was limited. Her eyes flickered across Emily Jane’s flushed features, studying the subtle shift of muscles as she swallowed heavily.
"There, there," Cathy soothed as she slipped the gag back into place, “now relax and let’s get this done…”
She leaned closer, practically hovering above Emily Jane as she reached for the control pad. The gentle whir of the motors was the only warning Emily Jane got before she felt herself being pulled into the air. Cathy quickly slid the thick metal bars into place to take Emily’s weight, arching her back and pushing her chest out.
“Look at that,” she smirked, “they’re almost like real tits now, just one more adjustment…”
Cathy stepped back and surveyed her handiwork as Emily Jane’s lean legs parted, her naked pubis slowly exposed revealing a petite, perpendicular crack, framed between two smooth, fleshy lips. Emily Jane, unable to resist the pull of the motors, soon found her legs spread into a wide V - she closed her eyes and let her head drop back, whimpering softly behind the gag as her most intimate flesh was displayed under the bright lights for the other girl to savour.
Cathy stepped between her legs, watching gleefully as they moved further and wider, until Emily Jane was in an almost perfect side split - stopping the motors only when her outer lips widened and her inner lips pulled slowly apart, gaping open. She stood mesmerised for a moment as the pink interior glistened before her.
Emily Jane felt the brush of Cathy’s breath as the girl leant forward and sniffed at her opening. She felt like a piece of meat, a cheap whore, so wantonly displayed like this - she was getting lightheaded as her breathing grew more laboured, her anxiety worsening as adrenalin continued to flood through her body until her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest.
She would have jumped out of her skin if she was able to move when she felt the cold liquid being brushed over her lips and round her puckered anus.
“There,” Cathy crooned as she pressed paper into Emily’s paint slicked folds, “a couple of prints for my wall and,” the rapid click, click, click of a shutter broke through the buzzing in Emily Jane’s ears, “a little something for the wank bank… and down you go!”
Emily Jane landed uncomfortably on the stage, her legs snapping together as the tension in the cables finally disappeared, allowing her to curl up in a ball. Her tears finally broke through while she lay there, trembling as the significance of Cathy’s words registered. She clawed at the gag, desperate to get it out of her mouth as she fought back the overwhelming urge to throw up, bile rising volcanically as she wondered just what Cathy had planned for those photos.
Balthus's (Balthasar Klossowski, 1908-2001) Thérèse on a Bench
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Re: Emily Abroad... Life at full volume - pt. 3 (03/01)
“…following referral patient received a moderate dose, 35mg (0.75mg/kg) ketamine, administered orally to induce empathogenic state, increased from 0.35mg/kg in lieu of prior substance abuse. No evidence of euphoria associated therewith, anxiolytic response within anticipated parameters. Patient made no relevant disclosures, nor gave any sign of acceptance of personal responsibility before onset of significant sedative effect curtailed session. Hall pass issued, advised to rest until recovered and escorted to dorm…”
Doctor Wellyn’s eyes flicked from the page she’d pulled from her newest patient’s file to the empty packets she’d rescued from the bin and on to the laptop on her desk as she thought back on the conversation she’d just had with Tom Jenkins, Emily Jane’s math’s teacher.
“I don’t know what to tell you Tom,” she’d said, “it was a standard therapy session, I had her escorted to her dorm to recover per protocol and,” she’d continued as she’d turned the screen so he could see it, “according to her RA and her tablet, that’s where she stayed until she got up and came to your class.”
It was, she thought, a little unusual that the girl had been knocked out for so long, particularly given her history – but not overly alarming. Nevertheless, and not that she expected to find anything, she’d spent the last hour checking the information from the girl’s admission file, her dose calculations and performing an inventory of remaining doses just in case she’d missed something.
“Sorry to bother you Doctor Wellyn,” she looked up, smiling as she recognised the woman standing in her open doorway, “but I have some concerns regarding the new girl…”
Doctor Wellyn rose, her sense of unease surrounding one Emily Jane Saunders having grown from mild trepidation following this morning’s incident in the gymnasium, to significant concern following Tom’s visit and now she had another teacher wanting to speak to her. The staff had, she knew, seen it all - to have two contact her about a pupil in one day was practically unheard of, a third was setting off all kinds of alarms as she motioned Mme. Martin to come in.
She listened carefully, making the odd note as the normally jocular French woman laid out her concerns before thanking, an dismissing the teacher with promises to look into the matter:
“Mme. Martin reports EJS observed in suspicious interaction with other pupil – although no evidence of anything untoward. All evidence to the contrary, EJS denies having volunteered to model for class and remained uncooperative throughout, posing supports/restraints necessary to force compliance, MM concerned EJS defiant to the point of potential self-harm (e.g. refusing liquids and/or rest/movement between poses).”
Three referrals in the same day. It wasn’t, she knew, unusual for new students to have difficulties in adjusting to Rosemount’s strict environment, doubly so for those who hadn’t grown up with anything similar, but the crawling sensation in the pit of her stomach was telling her that there was more to this, whatever this actually was.
ODD maybe, she thought - that could explain the drug use, mood swings and her defiant personality. Not that it was mentioned in her file, but neither was the aggression she’d shown earlier in gym class - she would, she decided, go straight to the source to see if her doctors could shed any light on the girl’s behaviour.
A quick glance at the clock, however, had her groaning - a phone call now would be doubly futile. There shouldn’t be any chance they’d just speak to her over the phone, even if their offices were actually open given the time difference but, she supposed, there was no reason she couldn’t give her doctors a courtesy call to let them know to expect her formal request…
The phone only rang a few times before the line picked up. “Hooters… what can I do ya for?” The very-much-not-a-doctor’s-answering-service enquired over the sounds of loud background music.
Making her apologies for the obviously wrong number, Dr. Wellyn hung up and stared at the file in front of her. Just a wrong number, she thought to herself, so easy it happens all the time… so why, she wondered, was her stomach twisting itself into knots?
A quick tap on the keyboard had her computer back out of stand-by. She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, confusion painted across her face as the results page loaded, again. It was still showing ‘no results found’ for the doctor’s name in the AAMC register in one tab and nothing but a pet store registered at the address they’d been given… something was very, very wrong indeed.
She started gathering her notes, trying to organise her thoughts as she did so, knowing the headmaster would want, and need, to be informed of everything she’d discovered and suspected.
“Sorry Dr. Wellyn,” she looked up, startled as a flustered looking proctor rushed into her office, “but Dean Thomas says you’re needed at the art studio right away…”
***
Emily Jane picked up the small ceramic pig and hurled it with all the strength she could muster at the head that’d poked its way past the double doors, forcing his hasty retreat.
She was too slow to hit him, of course, the whirlwind of destruction that’s she’d wrought once she’d finally managed to stand had left her completely exhausted, covered in paint and surrounded by the wreckage of the art studio.
She sat there, leant against the wall panting heavily, her body shaking with the adrenaline that’d surged through her system - she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep them out indefinitely, and that there’d be hell to pay when they finally got to her but, for now, she was happier than she’d been in months even if the stool had simply bounced off the window instead of crashing through the glass as she’d thought it should.
Not a single one of the pieces she’d been forced to ‘model’ for had survived and, to be fair, it didn’t look like the room had fared too well either. The once pristine space was now a chaotic mess, with paint splattered over the walls and floor, easels smashed into pieces, and shattered fragments of ceramic strewn all about.
The loud, angry voices in the hallway suddenly dropped to hushed whispers that she couldn’t make out over her laboured breathing. Moments later, she found herself reaching for another missile as the doors edged inwards.
“Emily Jane,” she heard a vaguely familiar voice say, “it’s Ms. Wellyn, I just want to talk… I’d rather not have to do that through this door, would it be ok to come in?”
Emily Jane hesitated as the door edged further inwards as she wondered whether the woman could be trusted - true, she’d been the only adult to treat her half-way decently since she’d arrived in this nightmare… but… but…
“It’s ok Emily Jane,” Dr. Wellyn spoke softly, pausing her approach when Emily Jane started. Smiling gently, and with hands raised in a calming gesture, she continued in the same soothing tone, “you’re safe now, can you put the can down so I can feel safe too?”
Emily Jane squinted up at the woman through puffy, red rimmed eyes, and the dam broke - all the fight left her as wracking sobs took her, and the paint can slipped forgotten from numb fingers.
Dr. Wellyn crouched down next to Emily Jane and placed a hand on her shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry you’re feeling this way,” she said once Emily Jane had calmed a little, her voice filled with genuine sympathy, "but let’s see, are you injured?"
Emily Jane could only shake her head, not trusting her voice to remain steady as the counsellor started carefully checking her over. She yelped from the sting of an unexpected prick, her eyes popping wide in alarm as a heavy feeling started quickly spreading through her body.
“I’m truly sorry,” the woman said, as Emily Jane’s hate filled eyes swam from the syringe she was holding up to her face, “it’s just a little something t…”
Emily Jane heard no more as the darkness swallowed her.
Doctor Wellyn’s eyes flicked from the page she’d pulled from her newest patient’s file to the empty packets she’d rescued from the bin and on to the laptop on her desk as she thought back on the conversation she’d just had with Tom Jenkins, Emily Jane’s math’s teacher.
“I don’t know what to tell you Tom,” she’d said, “it was a standard therapy session, I had her escorted to her dorm to recover per protocol and,” she’d continued as she’d turned the screen so he could see it, “according to her RA and her tablet, that’s where she stayed until she got up and came to your class.”
It was, she thought, a little unusual that the girl had been knocked out for so long, particularly given her history – but not overly alarming. Nevertheless, and not that she expected to find anything, she’d spent the last hour checking the information from the girl’s admission file, her dose calculations and performing an inventory of remaining doses just in case she’d missed something.
“Sorry to bother you Doctor Wellyn,” she looked up, smiling as she recognised the woman standing in her open doorway, “but I have some concerns regarding the new girl…”
Doctor Wellyn rose, her sense of unease surrounding one Emily Jane Saunders having grown from mild trepidation following this morning’s incident in the gymnasium, to significant concern following Tom’s visit and now she had another teacher wanting to speak to her. The staff had, she knew, seen it all - to have two contact her about a pupil in one day was practically unheard of, a third was setting off all kinds of alarms as she motioned Mme. Martin to come in.
She listened carefully, making the odd note as the normally jocular French woman laid out her concerns before thanking, an dismissing the teacher with promises to look into the matter:
“Mme. Martin reports EJS observed in suspicious interaction with other pupil – although no evidence of anything untoward. All evidence to the contrary, EJS denies having volunteered to model for class and remained uncooperative throughout, posing supports/restraints necessary to force compliance, MM concerned EJS defiant to the point of potential self-harm (e.g. refusing liquids and/or rest/movement between poses).”
Three referrals in the same day. It wasn’t, she knew, unusual for new students to have difficulties in adjusting to Rosemount’s strict environment, doubly so for those who hadn’t grown up with anything similar, but the crawling sensation in the pit of her stomach was telling her that there was more to this, whatever this actually was.
ODD maybe, she thought - that could explain the drug use, mood swings and her defiant personality. Not that it was mentioned in her file, but neither was the aggression she’d shown earlier in gym class - she would, she decided, go straight to the source to see if her doctors could shed any light on the girl’s behaviour.
A quick glance at the clock, however, had her groaning - a phone call now would be doubly futile. There shouldn’t be any chance they’d just speak to her over the phone, even if their offices were actually open given the time difference but, she supposed, there was no reason she couldn’t give her doctors a courtesy call to let them know to expect her formal request…
The phone only rang a few times before the line picked up. “Hooters… what can I do ya for?” The very-much-not-a-doctor’s-answering-service enquired over the sounds of loud background music.
Making her apologies for the obviously wrong number, Dr. Wellyn hung up and stared at the file in front of her. Just a wrong number, she thought to herself, so easy it happens all the time… so why, she wondered, was her stomach twisting itself into knots?
A quick tap on the keyboard had her computer back out of stand-by. She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, confusion painted across her face as the results page loaded, again. It was still showing ‘no results found’ for the doctor’s name in the AAMC register in one tab and nothing but a pet store registered at the address they’d been given… something was very, very wrong indeed.
She started gathering her notes, trying to organise her thoughts as she did so, knowing the headmaster would want, and need, to be informed of everything she’d discovered and suspected.
“Sorry Dr. Wellyn,” she looked up, startled as a flustered looking proctor rushed into her office, “but Dean Thomas says you’re needed at the art studio right away…”
***
Emily Jane picked up the small ceramic pig and hurled it with all the strength she could muster at the head that’d poked its way past the double doors, forcing his hasty retreat.
She was too slow to hit him, of course, the whirlwind of destruction that’s she’d wrought once she’d finally managed to stand had left her completely exhausted, covered in paint and surrounded by the wreckage of the art studio.
She sat there, leant against the wall panting heavily, her body shaking with the adrenaline that’d surged through her system - she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep them out indefinitely, and that there’d be hell to pay when they finally got to her but, for now, she was happier than she’d been in months even if the stool had simply bounced off the window instead of crashing through the glass as she’d thought it should.
Not a single one of the pieces she’d been forced to ‘model’ for had survived and, to be fair, it didn’t look like the room had fared too well either. The once pristine space was now a chaotic mess, with paint splattered over the walls and floor, easels smashed into pieces, and shattered fragments of ceramic strewn all about.
The loud, angry voices in the hallway suddenly dropped to hushed whispers that she couldn’t make out over her laboured breathing. Moments later, she found herself reaching for another missile as the doors edged inwards.
“Emily Jane,” she heard a vaguely familiar voice say, “it’s Ms. Wellyn, I just want to talk… I’d rather not have to do that through this door, would it be ok to come in?”
Emily Jane hesitated as the door edged further inwards as she wondered whether the woman could be trusted - true, she’d been the only adult to treat her half-way decently since she’d arrived in this nightmare… but… but…
“It’s ok Emily Jane,” Dr. Wellyn spoke softly, pausing her approach when Emily Jane started. Smiling gently, and with hands raised in a calming gesture, she continued in the same soothing tone, “you’re safe now, can you put the can down so I can feel safe too?”
Emily Jane squinted up at the woman through puffy, red rimmed eyes, and the dam broke - all the fight left her as wracking sobs took her, and the paint can slipped forgotten from numb fingers.
Dr. Wellyn crouched down next to Emily Jane and placed a hand on her shoulder, offering a comforting squeeze. "I'm sorry you’re feeling this way,” she said once Emily Jane had calmed a little, her voice filled with genuine sympathy, "but let’s see, are you injured?"
Emily Jane could only shake her head, not trusting her voice to remain steady as the counsellor started carefully checking her over. She yelped from the sting of an unexpected prick, her eyes popping wide in alarm as a heavy feeling started quickly spreading through her body.
“I’m truly sorry,” the woman said, as Emily Jane’s hate filled eyes swam from the syringe she was holding up to her face, “it’s just a little something t…”
Emily Jane heard no more as the darkness swallowed her.
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