Melody Smith's Schooldays
by Eve Adorer
Chapter 1 - My New School
If we are only beautiful when we are young, when I was young I was, believe me I
was, extremely beautiful. I was the girl of every other girl's dreams.
I now earn millions in my modelling career. My face is everywhere and pictures
of my face and body, clothed and not, challenge all young women to a competition
with me they have absolutely no chance of winning.
But what you want to hear about, what everybody wants to hear about since my
famous, or should that now be infamous, television interview, is the
full-uncensored truth of what happened in my final school days. What happened to
an innocent virgin sixteen-year-old new to the ways of what in England are
called public schools because, of course, they offer only private fee paying
education.
I was the only child of a couple with ambitions for their daughter beyond the
reach of their money it seemed. Beyond their reach till their out-of-the-blue
windfall from a lottery ticket given them as a gift by me, of all people: the
first I had ever bought.
I was only just sixteen. I had done well at state school. It some ways it might
have been better had I stayed at state school, but my parents wanted things, as
they thought, better still for me and none of us knew that events would turn out
as they did.
Although I had but two years left to the school leaving age of eighteen, it was
agreed even by me, that I should seek the best education money could buy a girl,
and go to St Catherine's Academy for Girls.
St Cath's", as all who went to or worked there called it had, as well as a
reputation for academic excellence, a history to match its distance from my home
and its number of pupils. All had "five hundred" in their number. St Catherine's
was, more or less, five hundred miles from my home, it was way up in the wilds
of Scotland, it was, or at least claimed to be, established five hundred years
since its foundation by nuns, and there were normally five hundred girls
attending to learn there.
What attracted my parents to send me to St Catherine's was the promotion in the
academy's literature of the positive discrimination self-evidently provided by
an all-female environment, teachers and pupils both. Indeed, at my pre-transfer
interview in London, with my parents present, the academy's head had convinced
my folks that for me to be kept away from boys for a short while would do no
harm at all to my educational and consequently my career prospects.
When I had just turned sixteen, I was what British newspapers now call "a
stunna". Five-feet eight inches tall, with long, long, legs and long slim arms.
I was an innocent, with an angel's face, startling light blue eyes that would
flash green when I was aroused from whatever cause, and blonde hair reaching
down below my very shapely buttocks. Yes, you are absolutely right, I could
indeed sit on my beautiful golden hair.
Like all girls of my age though, I was very self-conscious about my body and oh
so wished that breasts, 37 D-cup, pendulous, with pointy pink nipples,
absolutely exquisitely beautiful as they were to any who saw the truth, were
more petite, not so bold, and more like those of some of my "normal" sized
friends.
I had too, already become aware of the power of my beauty. Though I never tired
of being told how pretty I had become, I was embarrassed by the way grown men I
had known since childhood would now treat me like a goddess. Somehow I
instinctively knew though, that this was not something to take overmuch
advantage of, and I found great pleasure in being reportedly known as "a nice
girl".
At state school so far, I was good, better than good, at everything academic and
was heading for a university place, probably at the best. And I was athletic. I
was the best runner in my school; advantaged by my long legs, though, since I
had become a teenager, I did not want to do exercise that would make me
unfeminine: I did not want to develop obvious muscles.
My parents continued their busy working lives and, though only just turned
sixteen, I considered myself old enough to make my own way by train and cab to
my new school.
Arriving to live-in there on the afternoon of the day before the first of the
new term, I was surprised at how friendly and welcoming the girls who had been
there already for some time were to me, as a newcomer, as we all stood around in
the assembly hall waiting to be formally sorted into our year-groups classes and
dormitories.
But I could not help hearing conversation around me in which the word "slag"
(meaning, I supposed, a whore - a hooker) kept recurring. Yet it seemed to be
being used in the same context as the word "fag" is used in respect of English
public schools for boys. A "fag" is a junior aged boy who acts for a time as a
menial servant for a senior one, just as that senior one will have done in his
turn when he was younger. It is supposedly character building.
I was horrified that anyone would think I was a whore, not that I really and
truly knew what it meant to be a whore when I had just turned sixteen, but my
new found friends and fellow future classmates assured me it was not me that was
being talked about.
As if I should know what she meant, the most talkative of my new companions, a
girl my age called Tania, explained that the School Slag had left at the end of
last term and her replacement was yet to be chosen. She went on to say that
Marion or Josephine were the front-runners, but that I was so pretty I better
keep my head down. Not that I need worry really, "Jo" or "Mar" were certainties:
one or the other. There was even talk of two; but that was against all
tradition.
I was, of course, extremely curious as to what they could be talking about. I
asked to have Josephine and Marion pointed out to me. Tania spotted Josephine
and pointed over her way. Jo was a truly lovely looking eighteen-year-old young
woman, a brunette with an hourglass figure. She smiled at me and her pretty face
lit up like all heaven.
Tania called my attention back. Then, suddenly she stopped talking and a general
silence fell over the throng. I instinctively knew the silence was from fear.
With misplaced arrogance, I told myself I was frightened of nobody. As the
head-girl and her ten prefects marched in, I stood tall, my five-foot eight
inches putting me boldly above the heads of at least the younger girls in the
room.
The prefects, all seventeen to eighteen-year-olds in their last school years,
made no attempt to hide the conversation they were concluding.
"Marion has the legs, you cannot deny she has the legs, but Jo, oh now then,
Jo!" opined one prefect."
"Marion is lovely in so many ways, she has a perfect figure, not top heavy like
Jo........." said another prefect who was actually standing close to Josephine
and talking as if Josephine had no right to protest being spoken of completely
publicly in that way.
Then the conversation stopped. The head-girl was looking at me. The heads of all
other pupils in the room had dropped but I looked her straight in the eyes.
"Well, well, well" said the head-girl in a soft low sneering voice, "just look
what we have here".
"You must be the tart from state school: what's your name?" she snapped.
The question could not have been aimed at anybody other than me.
"Melody Smith" I responded boldly and confidently, "And I'm not a tart!"
This set off a good deal of chatter among the prefects, which the head-girl
listened to whilst blatantly ogling me. When it ended, all the prefects joined
the head-girl in looking at me. The other girls around me were ordered by a
gesture to leave a full clear view of me.
Eleven sets of eyes looked me up and down. The chatter among the prefects
started up again. I could hear the word "yes" from almost every lip it seemed.
Their muttering stopped. Then the head-girl turned toward me having checked the
consensus.
"Well, Smith" the head-girl continued menacingly, "You will report to the
prefects' quarters at 18.00 hours sharp today. Is that understood?"
I was so astounded I just stared.
"Good" said the head-girl, without waiting for, and clearly not considering I
had any right to an answer. "Don't be late."
I could never explain the way this hit my mind, let alone my body between my
lovely legs. As soon as the prefecture had gone, the chat among the other girls
recommenced. Of course I asked what on earth the head-girl was on about, but
nobody would tell me.
"You'll have do as they say and go" said Tania. "It's an unbroken tradition. If
you don't do as they say, you'll get worse trouble than you ever imagined
possible."
Strangely, I knew that I would go. Something in my nature had been discovered by
the head-girl's peremptory command"
"Come with me Tania, please." I begged.
"No. It isn't allowed", said Tania. "I'll show you our dorm and the way to the
prefecture. It's across the quad. You have to go totally alone when the time
comes."
"Is this some kind of initiation wind up? Are you all just ribbing me because
I'm the new girl?" I asked.
I could immediately see in her face that it was not so, and that she felt sorry
for what was happening, but was powerless, completely powerless, to do anything.
