Such Well-Behaved Girls - Chapter 1: Initiation

A teacher starts a new job in a girls' school like no other...

St Matilda’s was the school that every other school wished it could be. It had always been known as a prestigious school - they only took “School for the Daughters of Gentlemen” off the sign in the 1990s. But over the past fifty years or so, it had become known as the best. Almost unbelievably so. It had a proud reputation for getting the best results in Britain. Its students nearly all got straight-As in their exams. To be able to say you’d attended St Matilda’s was an indication that you were educated at the very highest standards. The headteacher, Miss Philips, was treated like a celebrity in the teaching profession.

On the rare occasions when a vacancy comes up, competition is fierce. When I applied for the English teacher post, I didn’t think I had a hope in hell. So when I got called for an interview, I could hardly believe my luck. And when I actually got the job, I kept expecting someone to appear and tell me that there had been a horrible mistake.

The school where I had been teaching was an underfunded secondary school in a deprived town in the middle of nowhere. I’d dreamed of being that inspirational teacher who helps the kids discover their passion for learning, But after a few years, I was just about ready to give up on my career. You can only do so much.

When I went for my interview at St Matilda’s, things couldn’t have been more different. The school was out in the countryside, a collection of beautiful 18th and 19th century buildings. It was an all-girls school, with notoriously expensive fees. But if the result was the beautifully behaved and well-spoken girls in immaculate uniforms that I saw walking around the place, it seemed worth it.

Miss Philips herself interviewed me. She was actually a rather attractive woman who I judged to be somewhere in her forties. There was a certain coldness to her, or at least, a lack of emotion - it seemed to me more like a general emotional reticence rather than anything personal. Or so I hoped, anyway. She reminded me a little of a Victorian governess, with her tied-back dark hair and blouse buttoned up to the neck. The interview itself was nothing special. The usual questions you’d expect of any teaching post, their expectations, my expectations.

Still, my answers were obviously what she was hoping for, because my application was successful, and so I found myself back at St Matilda’s, eager to start my new job. I arrived a few days before I was actually due to begin, as I had been instructed.

And so once again I sat before Miss Philips, in her study. She sat behind a huge, antique desk. I was on a leather-backed swivel chair that felt equally antiquated.

“Well, Mr James,” she said. “Here we are again.”

“Yes indeed,” I said.

“Congratulations on your successful application. Now, as I said in my earlier email, a period of acclimatisation is required. As you are perhaps aware, we do things a little differently from your last school.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I said.

If she thought that was funny, she didn’t laugh. She just nodded. “Well, now we must give you the grand tour. Lucy?”

A girl came in. She was pretty and athletic with fair hair. Affixed to the lapel of her navy blue blazer was a HEAD GIRL badge.

“This is Lucy,” said Miss Philips. “She will be joining us. Lucy, this is Mr James, the new English teacher. Lucy is an excellent example of the sort of pupil we aim to create. Attentive, intelligent, polite and successful in both academic and sporting pursuits. She is in her final year and has a great future ahead of her.”

“Thank you, Miss,” said Lucy.

So the tour began. This place couldn’t have been more different from my last place. It was massive. The facilities were amazing. There was a gym, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, playing fields as far as the eye could see, even a section of woodland. The classrooms were all fully equipped with top-of-the-line equipment.

“On top of our fees, we also receive substantial donations,” Miss Philips explained. “Appreciative ex-pupils, their parents, even their employers in one or two cases.”

“Incredible,” I said.

What was more incredible was the lessons we looked in on. The girls were almost unnaturally attentive. There was no talking, no fidgeting, not even the telltale glazed expression of a child who really isn’t taking any of this in.

“It was never like this at my last school,” I said.

“No, it wouldn’t have been,” said Miss Philips. “We have a unique method of teaching. I like to say that only a fraction of our teaching success comes from the classroom. Lucy, do you enjoy your lessons?”

“I love them,” said Lucy simply.

“Incredible,” I said again.

We stuck our heads into the empty dormitories. All beautifully tidy, and very well furnished. “Our standards of presentation are as high as our standards of academic success,” said Miss Philips. “To that end, our girls are schooled in cleanliness and tidiness.”

The final part of the tour was the staff accommodation. This was a series of rather old houses a short distance from the main school buildings that had been converted into flats. I had seen them briefly when I arrived on site. It was expected that staff would live on site during term time - I had nothing in particular anchoring me to my old place, so I was happy to move in.

Miss Philips showed me into my own rooms. Not the biggest flat I’d ever lived in, but very pleasant. “I hope this will meet your needs. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom. You may dine in the dining hall if you wish. Here are your keys. I shall leave you now - Lucy will take care of you while you settle in. Please be back at my office for nine tomorrow for the next part of your acclimatisation. Good afternoon.”

Miss Philips left. Lucy stood by the door. “Do you have any questions, sir?” she asked.

“Er,” I said. “Not that I can think of… So you enjoy it here, do you?”

“Oh yes,” she said, with genuine enthusiasm. “I love this school. I’ll miss it when I go off to university. I’d like to be a teacher and someday, maybe I’ll get to teach here!”

“Ha, I couldn’t wait to get away from my school.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” And God help me, she genuinely did look sorry. As if I’d revealed some past trauma. I’d never seen a pupil so dedicated.

“Yes, well,” I said. Because I couldn’t think of anything else.

“Do you need any help putting your things away?” she asked.

I looked at my suitcase. “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think I’ll just get settled in first, and start unpacking properly later.

“Alright,” said Lucy. And then she took her blazer off. And then her shoes.

“What are you doing?” I asked, as she removed her tie and began unbuttoning her blouse.

“Miss Philips said I was to help you get comfortable.” She shrugged the blouse off and turned her attention to her pleated skirt.

Thoughts raced through my head. I was alone, in a flat, with a pupil, who was undressing. The situation couldn’t have been any more inappropriate. What the hell was this? A trick? An initiation? Some sort of bizarre private school mind-game?

And at the same time, other, very un-academic thoughts sprung to mind. Mostly relating to the form that were being revealed to my gaze. By now, she was down to her underwear. By God, that was a fabulous body. Toned, yet with amply developed breasts and hips. She could be a model.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age, I was able to muster the words, “I’m not sure that’s what Miss Philips meant.”

“She said whatever you wanted, I was to help you with.” She smiled. “I noticed you were looking at me when I first came in.”

Well, yes, that was true. But I hoped I’d been discreet. Apparently not.

She knelt in front of me. Her eye was level with my crotch, and whatever my moral, sensible side might have been saying, there was no hiding what the more primal, masculine side of me was thinking. She reached out and unbuckled my belt. I could have stopped her. I didn’t. She pulled my trousers down. I lay on the bed - she climbed up and knelt next to me. Her white bra was next to go, revealing those marvellous pink-peaked breasts to my lustful gaze. She wriggled out of her panties and now all that stood between her and total nudity were her white stockings.

She pulled at the waistband of my boxers, releasing my cock, which as you might imagine was now at full stand and feeling about ready to burst. I inelegantly wriggled out of my underwear. She manoeuvred herself around, so she was between my legs.

Any minute now, I thought, it’s all going to go wrong. I’m going to wake up. Someone will burst in with a camera and a blackmail demand. She’ll change her mind and cry rape.

Her slender fingers closed around my shaft. She ran her tongue delicately around my balls, her warm breath igniting every nerve. Gradually, she moved up the shaft, millimetre by millimetre, seemingly teasing me for an aeon. At last, she opened her lips and slid the head slowly in.

I was lost. The world around me seemed to fade away as her mouth and fingers expertly toyed with me. She moved around so her slit was directly above my face, so very inviting. I lifted my head and began to lap at the wetness. She gave a contented moan. My misgivings had vanished entirely - all that mattered was the girl.

I was far from inexperienced, yet this girl, barely an adult, was introducing me to sensations I’d never experienced before. I was desperately eager to return the pleasure she was giving me. She gasped, her breathing quickening and her already-wet sex becoming yet more slick as orgasm emanated from her.

She turned her head towards me. “Thank you,” she said. She clambered off me and got on to all fours, looking at me expectantly. I didn’t need help taking the hint. I got on my knees. I couldn’t resist running my hand over that beautiful backside of hers, my fingers straying towards that soaking haven beneath.

I steadied myself against her and guided my swollen member towards her opening, feeling the way by the heat emanating. I savoured every fraction of a second as I slid into that slick, tight gateway to heaven. She gave another moan as I was engulfed. I couldn’t help myself, I began to pound away, my hands roaming around her body.

I confess that I did not last long. I doubt any man could have. I was seized by the most intense orgasm of my life, my cock throbbing as my seed pumped into her. The pleasure spread outwards, all the way up to my chest and to the soles of my feet.

We both slumped, somehow still intertwined. I withdrew my glistening and still-twitching cock.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said, not really knowing what else to say.

She swung her legs around and stood up, giving me a lingering look at that beautiful body before she ran off to the bathroom.

As my prick wilted, reality began to set in. What had I just done? I’d just been seduced by a schoolgirl. I’d fucked her. I’d come inside her. And on my first day in the job! I should have just said no. Told her to stop undressing. Kicked her out of the flat. Why hadn’t I?

She returned and I helped her gather her clothes up. Thoughts swirled around in my head. When she said goodbye, I was so distracted that I could barely respond.

I wasn’t new to teaching. I’d encountered schoolgirl crushes before. If you’re a reasonably good-looking young man working in a place full of hormonal teenagers, it’s inevitable. But I’d never once taken advantage. It was a simple rule of teaching. Never, ever cross that line. But then, none of those girls had ever taken me to my bedroom and stripped off before.

I shouldn’t have been able to sleep, yet I was so exhausted my our recent exertions that I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The following day, my alarm went off. As I became conscious, my fears also reawoke. I washed and dressed and strode to Miss Philips’ office, feeling very much like a man on his way to execution.

“Good morning, Mr James,” said Miss Philips. “Perfectly punctual. Excellent. Come in and sit down.”

I did. The antique desk between us reminded me very much of a judge’s bench.

“I trust you settled in?”

“Yes,” I said, slightly in a daze. Irrationally afraid that elaborating further might give me away.

“Were your rooms comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“And I trust Lucy was helpful?”

My heart was beating so hard, I wondered that it didn’t burst from my chest. “Very,” I said.

“Good.” She looked at her laptop, then back at me. “And did you sleep with her?”

“Did I -“ I paused.

“Sleep with her.”

I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t think what to say. Confess it? Deny it? The game was up. She knew. At least she suspected.

Miss Philips gave a small smile. “I assume from your response that you did. Don’t be afraid, Mr James. I won’t be calling the police, nor will I be giving you the sack. Rather, I instructed Lucy to do as she did.”

I frowned in incomprehension. What kind of a madhouse was this?

“You see, Mr James, there is rather more to this school even than meets the eye. Do you consider yourself a feminist?”

I was uncertain how to reply. “Well, I mean, in the sense that I believe that women should have opportunities and… and so on.”

“I quite agree. But my beliefs on a woman’s place are complicated. Yes, our girls excel - that is practically the school’s motto. A woman should be strong and intelligent. Yet I also believe that a woman is a sexual being, Mr James, and we should be able to express that. And to serve the men around us. This is something I instil into the girls.

“I realise that my beliefs are radical and out-of-step with the norm. That is, however, the price I charge for giving our girls the tools they need to be the very best they can. Those tools are a high standard of teaching, the very best facilities - and a little technological help. Mr James, I am about to let you into the secret of our success.

“You see, Mr James, our girls excel because they must.”

There was a click as she flipped a switch on the underside of her desk. A strange noise started up, a whirr that raised in pitch and volume, then suddenly became inaudible. Miss Philips gave a little smirk.

“What you are experiencing is a unique piece technological artifice. Stand up.”

I did so. Except - not simply because my new boss had told me. It had been a compulsion, as if my legs obeyed before my brain had finished processing the instruction.

“Sit down,” she said. And I did. “Remarkable, isn’t it?” she continued. “A machine that can control the human mind.”

“It’s incredible,” I said, hardly believing what I was witnessing. “It’s like science fiction.”

Miss Philips nodded. “The machine has no formal name. The precise details of where it came from and its inner workings are, of course, a closely-guarded secret. But since 1972, this has formed the very core of our unique system of education. I meet with every new pupil when they first arrive here, and subject them to a session with it. Explain to them what is expected of them. They obey. They have no choice but to. Oh, and I’m afraid that’s also what is happening to you right now. You see, there are many people, perhaps most, who consider my way of doing things to be, shall we say, controversiall. I consider it far more civilised than the stress of placing unduly high expectations on our pupils, and one cannot argue with the results. Nevertheless, it seems that I am unusual in believing this. Therefore, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone other than the staff of this school. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I said.

“I consider the end to justify the means. Pupils come here from all over the world to experience the top-tier education and upbringing we offer. We have the daughters of billionaires, celebrities and aristocrats. The satisfaction parents express with St Matilda’s is universal. And that is only possible thanks to our wonderful machine. Yet if it were known, the consequences would be appalling. Both for us and for humanity as a whole - can you imagine such a machine falling into the wrong hands?”

I resisted the urge to ask why Miss Philips thought hers were the right hands.

“That is our culture here, Mr James. Do you accept it?”

“Yes,” I said. Because what else could I say? If I really had been brainwashed into not telling anyone about the machine, then there was no point in leaving. Miss Philips could fill my post immediately. And I’d have turned down the perfect job.

“Good. Of course, there are certain consolations. As you are aware, not only is our pay very good, and not only do we offer room and board, but a recommendation from me carries a huge amount of weight. If you do your job well, this could be the stepping stone to great things. But there are other, shall we say, bonuses.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes. How old are you again, Mr Philips?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“A young man. I understand you are unmarried. Are you single?” I wanted to say that it was none of her business, but I heard myself saying, “Yes, as of last October.” As a matter of fact, I had been in a serious relationship with a colleague at my old school. Our split had been one of the main catalysts for making me look for a new job.

“I presume, based upon your acquaintance with Lucy, that you are heterosexual, you have no strong religious convictions and no objections to premarital sex.”

“I… yes, that’s correct.”

“Then our girls are at your service.”

Sometimes you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing, even after you’ve already been subjected to all sorts of impossibilities. “Sorry - run that by me again?”

“Our girls are at your service,” she repeated. “You may do with them as you wish. Let me be entirely clear - if you want to have sex with the girls, you can. Lucy’s little welcome present was just the start.”

I’d never fully understood the phrase “the mind boggles” until that moment. My mind did indeed boggle. “So…” I said. I tailed off.

“So you just have to ask, Mr James. In truth, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re a handsome chap and I daresay some of the girls might even approach you of their own volition. However, there are some caveats. First of all, be careful. Now, our girls are fully informed about the birds and the bees, and our nurse is able to provide ‘preventative measures’ for when they put their knowledge into action, as it were. However, you need to play your part as well. No nasty surprises for our girls - you must stay clean.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

“And no rough stuff. Or at least, be sensible. I know some people are into pain, and no doubt there are those among our girls who would enjoy that sort of thing. But cuts and bruises raise questions that frankly I’d rather not deal with.”

“But isn’t all this…” I wasn’t sure how to finish. Illegal? Unethical? Wrong in every possible way?

“It is a part of the conditioning,” said Miss Philips smoothly. “If this is a problem for you, then you do not have to take advantage of it. But you have a vast choice of attractive young women who want nothing more than to please. Were I a young man in your position, I wouldn’t turn down such a rare opportunity.”

“Of course not,” I said, nodding. Which I think indicated that I was fine with all this.

“I phrase these things as requests, but…” She flicked the switch again and the lighting returned to normal. I’d completely forgotten the machine was still working.

The rest of the day had a surreal feel, because it was so… normal. I’d fucked a pupil and been introduced to a hypnotising machine and tomorrow I was just starting my new job as if all this was completely normal. Miss Phillips showed me around. I was introduced to the school, met some more of the pupils, met my colleagues, was shown where I could get coffee and so forth.

Mr Townsend greeted me in the corridor. He was the outgoing English teacher, the one I’d be replacing. “Mr James, I presume. Harry, is it?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“I think we’re the only young-ish chaps around here. Fancy grabbing a solidarity get-to-know-you drink in the Crown and Anchor this evening?”

“That sounds pretty good,” I said. And it did. I had a lot of questions about this place.
The Crown and Anchor was a pub about half a mile from the school – a proper country place with an open fire, an excellent selection of ales and a very good line in pies. Mr Townsend, or Alan, to use his first name, explained about the school and the sort of place it was. It was only after a couple of pints that he got on to the subject of what made the school unique.

“So what did you think of Miss Philips?” he asked. I can’t think of a single instance when someone’s asked me what I thought of someone and it hasn’t been a loaded question. Especially when a man asks it about a woman. But how was this question loaded? “I like her and I want to know if you’re a rival?” “I hate her and I want to know if you’re on my side?” “I know you’re both single and I want to set you up?”

“She’s an interesting woman,” I said.

“That’s one way of putting it,” said Alan. “I’d have said completely bonkers myself.”

“I mean, she has some unusual views.”

“I’m certainly not complaining. Have you met whatsername, the head girl?”

“Yes,” I said, guardedly.

“She give you the welcome package?”

I’m sure I must have blushed. “Well, er, we were introduced.”

He smiled. “Lucky man. I know why they call her the ‘head’ girl. I only had her the once, but by God… She’s going to make some rich so-and-so a very happy husband one day.”

“Yeah, now, I was wondering about this. Because it seems kind of weird.”

“I know. Great, isn’t it?”

“But am I missing something here?”

“No. We work in a school with a barmy headmistress who’s hypnotising the girls into perfect submissive young ladies who will do anything you say. Up to and including going to bed with you. Look, I know, it seems unbelievable. I didn’t believe it myself when I first arrived. I thought it was a respectable school with well-behaved girls and I was lucky to get such a prestigious job. Then the head prefect showed up in my bedroom and… well, I considered myself very, very lucky. Back then, the head girl was Mel. Black girl. Huge tits. I’d say she was the one schooling me that night, God knows where they pick it up.”

I must have looked doubtful. He leaned back in his chair. “Look, just go with the flow, old man. You’re never going to get an opportunity like this again. A part of me wishes I was staying.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked.

“Believe it or not, I’d like to settle down. Although trust me, I’d love to make the odd return visit. I’m just sticking around until my replacement - you - are settled in.”

It was my round. I hoped we wouldn’t be making a session of it, I didn’t want to be hungover on my first day.

“So I guess my next questions would be, how and why?” I said, setting the beers down. “How does that machine work? How did it come to be here?”

Alan shrugged. “Buggered if I know. I know it was installed at some time in the seventies. Where it came from, how it works, who built it, I have no idea. I’ll be honest, it scares the willies out of me – what if there’s another? What if there are loads of them, hypnotising us when we don’t even realise?”

I decided not to think about that. I already had too much on my mind. “So then… why?”

“Why what? Why is the machine there?”

“Why is Miss Philips doing all this? Hypnotising the girls, I get. I mean, perfect exam results every time, no behaviour issues, it’s every teacher’s dream. But the… other thing. That doesn’t exactly seem in line with that ‘school for the daughters of gentlewomen’ business. Especially with a female headteacher.”

“Who knows? She’s bonkers. I don’t think too hard about it – never look a gift horse in the mouth and never rock the boat.”

“So… do all the teachers do it?”

“No, not as many as you’d think. I do, I assume you will, Mr Davis certainly used to… Mr Currie is married – to a former pupil, actually. It was a little scandalous at the time. Mr Jones is gay. Most of the women don’t – Trudi is the obvious exception there. Miss Lucas, that is. The art teacher.”

“She’s a lesbian?” I said. I wasn’t particularly surprised.

“Yeah, she doesn’t like people knowing she does it, doesn’t exactly fit in with the right-on feminist credentials, but she does. I caught her in the drama studio once, making out with one of the girls. And I do wonder about Miss Philips. It would explain why she’s fine with it. I don’t know, maybe other staff do. I don’t know what the… induction process is like for others. But we’re both young and single – I presume you’re single?”

“Yep.”

“I think we’re the only male staff under forty. Like I say, probably best not to think about it too hard. Just enjoy yourself. You could have a different girl every night. Variety is the spice of life. You know, I had a princess a couple of years back.”

“Really?” I said. I was sure he was lying.

“Yeah. Princess-“ (I’d probably get in trouble if I named her, so all I’ll say is that he named a princess I’d never heard of from a country in East Asia that I’d barely heard of). “Not all that pretty, no curves, looked like a boy until you got her clothes off. But damn me, that was satisfying. I was her first, too. I read in the news that she just got engaged to some Chinese billionaire’s son.

“That’s the kind of experience that the likes of you and me will never get in the ordinary way of things. Rich girls, famous girls, important girls. Perfect tens. Girls who wouldn’t look at us twice. You know what my favourite part is, though?”

“What?”

“Parents’ evening. Talking to the parents and thinking, “I had her. I had your perfect little girl. I made her do things you’d hesitate to ask a high-class escort. I think, in a way, that’s even more satisfying than the sex itself.”

That evening, as I made my way to bed, I thought about what Mr Townsend had said. And I’m afraid to say that I found myself slightly repulsed. Using these young women as sex slaves. Lying to their parents. It was disgusting. And I’d done it myself, hypocrite that I was.

I vowed, as I fell asleep, that I wouldn’t take part in it from now on. I’d be one of the good teachers. Mr Townsend, Mr Davis, they could do what they liked, but I’d be different.

Well, that was the plan.