CHAPTER ONE

[In which the new broom makes an entrance]

 

Deryk U Dewey was a man of conscience. Well, a man, certainly. And something was niggling at him above the neck. What else could it be but conscience?

At the interview board which appointed that scurrilous scion of the English Public School system, Carlton Anstruther-Rigg, to head the Seminary, Pan-Global Electronics Inc's training school for selected female employees, his was the vote which decided the hotly debated issue. As a high flying MBA - and All American Boy, still replete with Mom and apple pie - the tight assd snob had made his teeth curl; but when in England, and all that!

Who'd have believed that 'Ivy League' could be a con trick on BOTH sides of the pond!?

Now, for his sins, he'd been appointed to clean house and get the establishment back in proper order. He was to turn it around and present his boss, Kenzo Ohtsuka, with the efficiently functioning flesh farm it was supposed to be. Quite a change from heading the Public Relations Division. But when 'Ken' Ohtsuka called, not to come running was professional suicide. So here he was, having in effect run all the way to darkest Staffordshire, walking up the long drive to get his first look at the place he'd heard so much about.

Was it because of his comparative youth that no invitation had ever come to join in the rumoured shenanigans of his fellow directors? Or had something else excluded him from those hallowed recreational ranks? Perhaps his pushy Yank face just didn't fit; though from the whispers he'd heard echoing round the executive washroom, it wasn't their faces the revellers put to use there! Still wondering, he arrived at the point where the drive swept out of the trees and saw his destination across the broad expanse of parkland. His mouth went dry with excitement. Abreast its knoll, the Seminary rose like a stolid monument to History past and history in the making. Like others before him, he saw it in terms of a seafaring metaphor - the stately house sailing across the countryside, blown by the wind in its forest of chimney stacks. Had they all got together and compared notes, the cliche‚ would have been sickening, but that undulating ground and distant fringing of trees like spume on wave-tops, created an unforgettable image.

In Deryk's case there was the added exhilaration of viewing it as his first truly independent command. Head Office, eat your hearts out!

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

In the front seat of the company car parked before the Seminary's front door, Instructor Frank Bayley noted the appearance of the distant figure and leaned sideways to grasp the hem of Clementine's uniform skirt. Hoiking it over her upturned hip, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at her tights and pushed them as far down as he could before sliding his fingers inside her pale blue panties.

Her buttocks were as smooth and firm as he remembered. The ravages of sedentary employment had yet to encroach on the comely contour. Keeping a weather eye on the sauntering approach of his new superior, he probed between her cheeks to renew his acquaintance with her anus.

Clem gave a delightful little shiver and wormed closer in his lap. Now he could reach the base of her labia, and quickly worked a finger into her moist interior. She cooed and paused momentarily.

Frank jerked his hips insistently, fervently reaming the perpetually hot pussy. Refreshing her lips with a pass of her tongue, Clementine resumed sucking and wished - not for the first time - for a return to the good old days her mother told about, when cocks could easily be prised out of the fly of underpants and dealt with without having to keep skin-tight briefs stretched clear of the guy's nuts.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

Lara Cocker puffed and panted with the other girls. On her back, hips propped on her hands, she bicycled her legs as fast as she could. Under what little breath she had left, she cursed the instructor.

Felix Drumme was a Fume and Flavour fetishist. His idea of Seventh Heaven was a sweat and pheromone exuding twat. Each morning's pre-breakfast PT session was aimed at nothing more than getting the entire student 'body' in a right royal lather, so he could strut around in T-shirt and shorts, inhaling deeply.

She'd sometimes thought to ask whether her shaven pubes meant less odour or more. Surely the absence of insulation meant a lower operating temperature, yet on the other hand there was no furry baffle to trap the molecules he valued so highly. Somehow, though, whenever the opportunity presented itself she was given something to take her mind quite off the question.

Still, she pedalled like mad, bum and tits - lolling ridiculously out of the quarter cup bra - wobbling like jellies.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

Though Miyako Antrobus had seen and heard nothing since being hooded, straitjacketed and restrained in the Seminary cell, the ship's erratic yawing proved it was no stabilised cruise liner.

Biting hard on the stuffer filling her mouth, she fought the pain from racking cramps. The narrow bunk mattress was little more than a sack of nuts and bolts. Every part of her small Japanese body had something to complain of, and did so in a concerto of discomfort.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been on board. The trip in the van had seemed a short one, suggesting embarkation took place at a dock somewhere in Merseyside. The anchor had been weighed immediately, since when the incessant motion had been all that marked the passage of time.

So dehydrated that her tongue was swollen against the gag, at least her nasal passages were no longer in danger of blocking her lifeline - the close fitting hood's small breathing tubes - with mucus.

The enforced inactivity in the unheated cabin had reduced her temperature to the point of constant shivering, and her crotch was raw from the chafing of the straitjacket's straps, exacerbated by the urine she'd been unable to hold. Numbness had overtaken her limbs so she couldn't be certain she really was wriggling her fingers and toes to keep the circulation moving. She thought so, but that was little consolation in her purgatory.

In short, she was in a bad way.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

In their private quarters, the remaining members of the Seminary staff prepared to make their appearance in the Dining Hall for breakfast. To a man they were nervous about the Principal's arrival. It was to some extent justifiable. Given the circumstances of Anstruther-Rigg's fall from grace, any new man was bound to be under orders to stir things up more than a bit.

Every girl in the place would have given a quiet cheer, had they known, for they spent every day in a state of tension and with less neurotic twitchings, gulpings and fumblings than were evident in those sancta that morning.

As if at some telepathic signal, the instructors congregated in the corridor and set off in martially reassuring step, hoping there was more than an illusion of safety in their relatively small number.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

First thing was to examine the plans, and then have a good snoop round, Deryk mused as he approached the building. But before all that, he'd have to have something to eat. Leaving the city early to miss the traffic hadn't worked out once they'd run into the juggernaut jam on the M1. A Service Area meal had had to be forgone so as not to lose even more time. But right after quelling his hunger pangs, he's get right down to it.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

Frank Bayley's finger was drenched in Clem's juices, as it so often had been during her training. She was one of his all-time favourite pupils, having a natural knack for fellatio which her time as company chauffeuse had done nothing to blunt, as his inflated balls and throbbing cock testified.

Bliss! Sheer bliss!

Her rhythmically bobbing head slid her soft succulent lips along his shaft in a mind-blowing caress that drove him wild. Oh, God! Why couldn't women be gifted with as much control over their fanny muscles?

Dewey had become indistinguishable in the ecstatic haze that fogged his vision: anyway he'd reached the point where he couldn't have stopped if his job depended upon it. Not with his pudenda interred in that particular mouth.

"Mmm," he murmured. "Like that. Just like that. Don't... Don't st... st... st... st-st-st-o-o-o-O-OPP-P-P!" he gasped, reaching the peak of pleasure and tumbling headlong down her throat along with his squirting jizz. "Aaaaaaaaahhh!"

Glugging the stuff with moans of genuine pleasure, Clem sat up and wiped her lips on a hankie. At the same time she glanced through the windscreen and saw Mr Dewey barely fifty yards away, his attention thankfully riveted on the Seminary's architecture.

"Christ! You might have said!" she cursed, frantically wriggling her clothing into a semblance of neatness and opening the driver's door.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

Lara, Crystal and Sheila were still titifying themselves in the Yellow House dormitory when Melanie Bohanon - ex-Yellow Houser and now prefect - strode in with a harried expression.

"Come on, you three. Snap it up! The new man's in the grounds. Chop, chop!" she urged, spinning on her heel and marching out in search of other stragglers.

Lara looked at Sheila, who looked at Crystal, who took time off from scratching her crotch to look at Lara. There was a moment of worried silence. Then all three drew a deep breath and steadied themselves for what at best would only mean more of the same, and at worst, MUCH MORE of the same!

Lara gave her bruised derriere a consoling pat and wondered how long it take for the fading discoloration to be overlaid with fresh weals.

"Come on, girls. We'll feel better with full bellies," she said, leading the way.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

Oriental implacability is all well and good, unless you happen to be an Oriental with your head in a padded mask which renders you as deaf and blind as its built-in stuffer does mute, your torso and arms encased in a canvas straitjacket, your knees strapped tightly together, and your feet bound in a leather bag. Then, implacability goes out the window and you panic. Just like lesser mortals.

Physically and emotionally drained, Miyako's struggles had become as feeble as the hope inspiring them. All she had to show for her trouble was a pain in the kneecap courtesy of the bunk's wooden safety panel. Heart pounding so hard she feared it would arrest, she yielded to the inevitable and wondered what it would feel like to die. She was surprised to find a sense of peace blossoming from the rich loam of fatalism. Her anger at Kenzo Ohtsuka's betrayal, Carlton's condemnation, and Lara's and Melanie's disrespect, evaporated. Pride, indignation, vengefulness - each emotion dissipated, ironically leaving her a better person.

Her shivering grew worse until she shook as with a palsy. The agitation in her chest further impaired breathing, forcing her to make a stupendous effort at relaxing despite knowing it would only accelerate the hypothermia.

Entombed by the conflicting demands of her body, she began to cry. The shock made her jump as the warm touch of a hand seared her thigh like a branding iron.