Chapter One

 

Emily bit her lip as she glanced at her watch yet again. It was almost a full minute later than the last time she'd checked and so she was another minute late for work. She bit her lip as she studied the car ahead, worrying over what Mister Jones would say.

She fidgeted uneasily as the truck ahead turned off, then stepped on the gas and rushed forward just before the light turned red. Normally she would never dare drive through a yellow light but her fear of Mister Jones was worse than her worry about the police this morning.

Emily Elsworth had worked at the Sanforth Academy for just over five years now, and on the whole, loved her work. She taught the grade three class in English, helping the eight and nine year olds learning how to read and write.

She loved being a teacher, except of course, for her brief sessions with Mister Jones, or sometimes other members of the school administration. Sanforth Academy was a strictly regimented school and that included the teachers as well as the students.

Mister Jones permitted no deviation from routine, no changes in curriculum, allowed no excuses for faulty behaviour, including tardiness. The school was rigidly conservative in its philosophy and expected its teachers to live up to their ideals.

For young women, such as Emily, that meant modest clothing and modest behaviour, including chastity and unassertive meekness around men. Argumentative females were not something that fit in with the mindset of either Sanforth Academy or Mister Jones, the principal.

She wheeled the compact car into the parking lot and parked, then got out and quickly made her way to the front door. All the others would be locked and Mister MacNeil would be waiting at the front to usher late arrivals into Vice Principal Warren's office, or, in the case of staff, into Mister Jones's.

Emily walked up the three stairs and tapped on the glass door. Mister MacNeil glared out at her, then stepped forward and opened it.

"You're late, Miss Elsworth," he said, pointing out the obvious.

"Yes, I know, Mister MacNeil. I'm so sorry. There was an accident on the road that blocked traffic." she explained, eyes downcast.

"Go in and see Mister Jones," he directed.

"Yes, of course."

In fact, school had not yet started, that is to say, the students would not be in class for another fifteen minutes. However, all faculties were expected at the morning prayer meeting, which she had already missed. Teachers were not paid for showing up early but if they wanted to keep working at Sanforth, they knew what was expected of them.

Emily walked into the office, where Mrs Cooper glared at her from behind her big walnut desk.

"I see you're late again." she scowled.

Emily blushed in embarrassment. Actually, she'd only been late once before, and that time only by five minutes, but that had only been last week.

Mrs Cooper picked up her phone and called Mr Jones then put it down and scowled at Emily again.

"You may go in now."

"Thank you." Emily all but whispered.

She knocked on the door anyway before opening it and stepping through.

Mr Jones was sitting behind his desk, a large American flag on a pole to the left of his desk, and a large cross on the wall behind him. He looked disapprovingly at Emily, motioning her to a chair.

"Miss Elsworth." he said.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry I'm late." Emily gulped.

"Again. Twice in one month."

"Yes sir. I'm very sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Emily kept her eyes on the floor, though she looked up from time to time.

"We try to instil certain virtues in our students here, Miss Elsworth," Jones frowned, "and among those are punctuality. We can expect no less from our faculty."

"No sir." she said meekly.

Emily's knees felt a little rubbery. She was frightened to death of authority figures, as meek a woman as even Mister Jones could hope for. She stood there in her flower print dress, which reached down to her ankles, and her flat heeled shoes, clutching her purse and book bag tightly as Mister Jones spoke of the evils of tardiness, her eyes still downcast.

Still, her mind wandered, a little, a very little, as Mister Jones droned on. Emily hated the way she acted, despised her own fear, her own cowardice. She longed to be a strong, confident person, one who would tell people like Mister Jones what to do with his stupid lectures.

She could only look with envious disapproval at the women she saw on the downtown streets, showing off their bodies, confident to the point of arrogance in their own self-worth.

Emily didn't own a mini skirt, nor a pair of shorts. She had a few pair of loose jeans and pants. All of her clothing was modest to the point of archaic. Not a single one of her skirts or dresses came near their knees.

She wondered what Jones would do if she were to show up in a tight leather mini-skirt and halter top. Probably have a heart attack. Her mind flicked to a fantasy of herself walking in naked, arching her back, putting her hands behind her head and doing a lewd dance for him. What, she wondered, would he do? Would he get an erection?

She felt a slight excitement at the thought. In truth, she thought she had a very nice body. Unfortunately, the idea of anyone looking at it filled her with embarrassment. That, as well as the dictates of her job, was why she wore such old fashioned clothing.

Still, in her dreams he was free, sometimes naked, other times wearing revealing clothing that excited men's passion. In her fantasies she turned heads, drew admiring, lustful eyes, wore tight clothes or none.

The source of such fantasies was simple. Emily was a healthy young woman, in her late twenties, with, as it happened, an above average sex drive. Yet she had grown up and lived in a sexually repressive atmosphere where any woman who had sex outside of marriage was condemned to hellfire for eternity.

So heavily had that been driven into her psyche that she could not even imagine herself having sex with anyone. Why, the idea of just being along, naked, NAKED, with a man was enough to make her blush.

If only she weren't so timid!