The blessed midnight silence hung over the Assassins' School. On that spring night, the day's work over, only the faint snoring, stirring and night-breathing of sleeping girls could be heard. A bed creaked occasionally. Alice Band made her way around the sleeping girls as only an Assassin moves: silently and unseen, counting heads and ensuring all the girls in her charge were in their beds and safe and well. A silent half-seen form in her dressing-gown and slippered feet, she had only her sixth-form girls to go before she could call it a night and retire to bed herself, her duties as Housemistress completed.
She nodded approval as Jocelyn Selachii sat up in bed, aware of her presence. Recognising her teacher, she lowered the crossbow and made safe.
"Well done!" Alice whispered. "Merit point for spotting me coming. You don't need the pistol-bow, by the way. Routine round."
She had high hopes of Jocelyn. But I'll still send her on the Vimes run next week, she thought. It'll teach her for pointing that bow at me.
Soundlessly leaving the fifth-formers, she ascended to the higher floor that housed her sixth-formers. Smaller dorms. More privileges. Two or four to a room. Won't take too long.
The first two study-bedrooms went without a problem. She took a second in the corridor, wistfully looking out into the night through a high stairwell window. A super night for edificeering. If it holds till tomorrow, I'll go out there after my last duty round. I wonder if Steffi's working tonight? I could use the company. I'll leave a message for her.
The third study bedroom revealed a different sight. Slipping in silently and noiselessly, she saw two of the beds were empty. She could account for that: one girl out on assignment, acting as apprentice to Matthew Ludorum, and one on home leave. But the third empty bed?
Moving swiftly on, she discovered the reason. Jocasta Wiggs and Emilia Mountjoy-Standfast were tightly wrapped in and around each other, deeply and blissfully asleep, with the bedclothes only randomly covering them. Alice, her heart beating a little faster, took a few moments to observe: Jocasta's nightdress had ridden up above her waist, exposing a long, long, well-shaped leg which was wrapped over and around Emilia. Meanwhile, Emilia's nightdress was both pulled down to her waist and rucked up over her thighs, barely covering anything.
In a conflict of emotions, Alice noted further details, such as the fact Jocasta was cupping Emilia's left breast in her hand. The right breast was exposed, lapping against Jocasta's right arm, with its nipple erect against the faint moonlight.
Alice swallowed hard, and regained her composure. Deftly and with kindness, she re-arranged the bedlinen so that both girls were covered up, hoping she wouldn't wake either. Jocasta's eyes, however, blinked into wakefulness and she looked first confused, then horrified.
"Miss?"
Alice forced a smile.
"You should really cover up. I don't want you both catching a cold."
"Miss…"
Alice lifted a hand for silence.
"She's asleep. You don't want to wake her. Oh, it's more comfortable if you push the beds together and tie the legs firmly so they don't separate in the night. You can tie the two mattresses together by the carrying handles. There's nothing worse than being the one caught up in the gap between the two beds if they pull apart in the night!"
Jocasta relaxed.
"Thank you, miss…" then a slightly shocked look of realization. In answer to the unspoken question, Alice smiled and said "Do you think you're the only ones? Goodnight. Very sweet dreams, and I'll see you at breakfast!"
As she left, she heard Emilia make a questioning "Wstfgl?" noise.
Alice smiled to herself, but after what she'd just seen, there was only one thing for it. "Gods, why did you make me a teacher in a girls' school and give me a sense of responsibility?" she screamed, inwardly. Returning to her own room, she locked the door, then kicked her slippers at the wall with some force. She threw off her dressing-gown and got into bed, then reached for the special bedside drawer. She fumbled to unlock it, then rummaged at random for the first one she could find, heaving the nightdress roughly up around her waist, not caring if it tore. Jumbled pictures started moving in her mind as her fingers found the sweet spot, and started to stroke.
Jocasta's leg… wrapped around me… and those cute young-girl breasts of Emilia's, she's presenting them to my mouth and asking if I like them… oh if there's a goddess for frustrated lesbian teachers, I really, really, need a girlfriend… Jocasta, her sweet little tongue teasing and licking and finding the spot and her breath hot on my pussy and Io! Io! I'm coming…..
She wasn't surprised the next morning when Jocasta and Emilia, looking sexless and plain in the school uniform, asked to see her.
In day clothes, with her hair bound up in a tight bun, Alice was aware she looked the part of the stern and severe schoolmistress. She looked over the rim of her glasses at the two girls standing in front of her desk.
"Miss… about last night. We're not going to be expelled, are we?"
Alice smiled. She knew the school rule: any pupil caught engaging in un-natural sexual activity, which she knew was a euphemism for gay, was to be reported and expelled with maximum demerits. She suspected it was a hangover from the days of the School being all-male, where that sort of thing was an occupational hazard. She could see it made sense if an older boy was coercing a younger: but then the crime was one of rape, not one of sexuality. And these two girls had been friends since arriving at the School, so no question of force or coercion applied here.
Besides, being un-naturally sexual herself, Alice had no intention of enforcing that rule.
She smiled. "Good heavens, no. I know what the school rules say. But as you get older, ladies, you will realize that there are no such things as rules: merely guidelines. But if I may advise you: Rule One is what it always was, which is Don't let yourselves be caught. It makes life so much simpler if the people who make the rules believe you are conforming to them." She paused, and added "That's the benefit of hard personal experience."
Emilia cleared her throat, nervously. "Miss… are you…?"
"Have I done the same sort of thing that you two were doing last night? Yes, as often as I can! But that's between us, obviously. I know something that can get you expelled, and you know something that could get me sacked. But as it's the same something, we can safely be discreet about it, can't we? Now if there's nothing else, you both have Traps and Deadfalls with Dr Nivor. Off you go!"
She watched them leave. She noted that not even the Assassins' School uniform, deliberately designed to make its wearer look as drab and sexless as possible, could completely hide the fact there were two gorgeous, physically honed, teenage bodies underneath its shapeless folds. She made herself tear her eyes away from Emilia's bottom, and looked away.
Oh, you Goddess of un-natural female sexuality, I really, really, need a girlfriend!
She felt the familiar moistness between her thighs, but knew that was nothing compared to the yearning she had felt ever since starting work at the school.
Alice Band, you're thirty-two years old. You should be over this by now. It's the girls who should be having adolescent crushes on you, not the other way around! She bitterly added to herself If this was a scene in one of those "Klatchian Holy Books"1 that Dibbler peddles, I'd be the manipulative domineering bitch who makes those two girls warm her bed, in return for my silence. But this is real life. Real life has consequences. I'm their teacher. Teachers do NOT fuck their pupils. Not now, not ever. The relationship's too precious for that, even with the bratty ones. And here, there are other things to consider…
Shaking her head, she went to take her first lesson in Ancient History and Stealth Archaeology.
1 "Klatchian Holy Books" – in the USA, the generic term for short pornographic novellas or picture books that a man could read with one hand while the other was…er…otherwise engaged, was a Tijuana Bible. This was due to the fact that they were printed in Mexico and smuggled across the border for profitable resale. Mexico, to generations of Americans, paralleled the way the British thought of Egypt: full of pimps trying to sell their sisters, or failing that, dirty postcards. Ref. Fred Colon's experiences in Klatch while working undercover in Jingo.