Virginia Ryder - Little Emily's family depravity

“Jackson handles the two big guard dogs, too,” the young girl added. “They're like super-vicious and he lets them loose on the grounds at midnight, every night, for security.”

Huh.

Good to know if I ever wanted to run away. I'd have to make sure I was gone before midnight or get eaten alive by monster dogs.

“Now tell us why you're here,” Maryanne was back to that. “You must be a bad girl, just like the rest of us.”

Finally, I relented. Sort of.

“I had a boyfriend my mom hated,” I said, which was as close to the truth as I was willing to get. We were each finally in our own beds, falling asleep from absolute exhaustion. “She caught us fucking in our basement, so here I am. My dad went along with it, sending me here. So I'm mad at both of them.”

Not really.

In fact, I was already missing my father's attention, both his parental and his sexual attention, so much so that I knew I'd be crying myself to sleep, exhausted from a non-stop night of girl-on-girl sex or not.

I desperately needed to get back home.

Early the next morning, before classes, breakfast in the surprisingly bright and sunny school cafeteria proved to be a challenge.

“God, here they come,” Maryanne breathed to me, not looking up. “Velda and her gang. Just pretend like nothing happened last night.”

I gave her a quick look. The three of us, she and I and little Pamela, were sharing the same long table by ourselves.

“You mean, last night when I licked their cunts?” I asked, looking to each of my new roommates. “Or when I licked both of yours?”

Both of them giggled at that, but nervously so, still refusing to look up or otherwise acknowledge me.

Maryanne and Pamela were both in their school uniforms, dark plaid skirts, knee socks and crisply starched white blouses, like every other student in the room, while I was wearing almost the same outfit I'd arrived in yesterday evening: jeans, tennis shoes and a different pullover top.

A minute later, Velda-followed by the almost-as-large blonde Carol and little redheaded Ingrid-joined us at our table without being asked. They sat down, set down their trays and gave me a look.

Like daring me to complain.

“Hello, sluts,” Velda started right in. Then, “Emily, how sore is your little butt this morning? Was that paddling fun?”

I just looked to her with a smile, then nodded.

“It wasn't so terrible,” I said. “At least when Carol did it. That was kind of fun, especially when I pissed in the bed and she licked my pussy anyway. I hope my pee tasted good.”

And Carol gave me a surprised look, which quickly darkened to one of pure malevolence.

My little roommates were suddenly concentrating even harder on their food, their heads lowered as they forked in blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and toast. I didn't blame them: this was my fight, not theirs.

At least, not yet.

Carol's expression changed as she saw someone across the room, and as I turned to see who it was, she reached out and scooped up my stack of pancakes, syrup and all, and squeezed them into a large round glob.

She set the gooey glob back on my plate, then put her hand under the table and wiped it off with a napkin. I could tell by her smile she was up to something, but I wasn't certain what. I only knew it would be bad.

A moment later, the tallish tough-looking woman I was earlier told by Maryanne was the gym teacher walked by our table taking her tray back. She was about 35 and rangy, with short cropped blonde hair and a no-nonsense manner about her.

“Hello, Ms. Dykstra,” Velda looked up with a smile.

Ms. Dykstra stopped abruptly, looking at the large glob that used to be my blueberry pancakes. She then looked to me.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“She's a comedian,” Carol volunteered. “And we got her a new uniform last night, but she refuses to wear it for some reason.”

Ms. Dykstra studied me a long moment, then again looked to the large ball of pancakes and syrup in the center of my tray. “Make sure you eat that,” she told me. “And we'll see how funny you think gym class is this morning…”

I just sat there as she walked away. Then I looked to Velda, Carol and Ingrid.

“Not bad,” I admitted to them. “I guess you got me.”

They all three stood up then, their breakfasts barely touched.

“It's just a start,” Velda assured me. “Just a start.”

Great.

The academic classes at Miss Hellview's Private School for Girls weren't much different than the classes I'd attended at St. Katherine's Academy, so I mostly ended up fitting right in when it came to my 5th grade schoolwork.

It was gym class, though, and that first gym class that first morning, that made me consider simply running away.

Due to the small number of students who attended the school, less than 50 of us, compared to a large public school, gym class was held every weekday at 10:00 a.m. for the entire student body.

That meant I was in the same gym class as the 8th grade class, consisting of about ten students, including my three new bully friends.

“Watch out for Carol,” Pamela warned me. “If Ms. Dykstra chooses dodge ball for us today, I'm sure Carol will somehow manage to smash your head in. She even does it to kids she doesn't want to kill.”

“Good to know.”

We were all in the small gym, in the little gym uniforms we'd all been given, dark blue shorts, tennis shoes, and skimpy white tee-shirts, waiting in line as Ms. Dykstra called out our names. At least I was wearing the right uniform for that particular class.

“The funny girl,” the gym teacher was suddenly standing directly in front of me. She had the standard silver whistle hanging around her neck, the uniform she wore exactly like our own. “Welcome to my class.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

There was no way I was smarting off to this woman. I knew she could snap me in two with very little effort. And everything about her told me she might actually want to, for some reason.

Oh, yeah, the breakfast pancake episode. That was the reason.

To the rest of the kids, she said, “It's dodge ball today. Pick up two teams.”

And she stood by me, keeping me out of the choosing-of-sides segment, until she could see what team Velda, Carol and Ingrid were on. Then she marched me over to the other team, the younger and smaller students like Pamela making up most of it, and pushed me into the group of nervous girls.

“Try not to get hurt,” Ms. Dykstra told me, clearly not meaning it. And blew her whistle. “Go to it, girls!”

Even though I was only a little 5th-grader, what I haven't mentioned yet was that I was a tomboy in many ways, including anything involving sports. Skinny or not, I was fast and I was very strong, two things you couldn't tell by just looking at me.

I know for certain Carol didn't expect it when, the first time she rocketed the ball at my head, I easily caught it, spun around for even more speed and power, and blasted it back to her so fast it caught the side of her face with a loud smack that almost knocked her down.

“Out, Carol!” Ms. Dykstra called, her whistle sounding. But then, “Time.”

And we all froze in place while the lanky gym teacher went to see if the tall blonde 8th-grader I'd whacked so hard in the face was okay. Carol was partially bent over, her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

“Good God,” Maryanne said. “You're a killer!”

I gave her a look, then glanced at the other girls on my team.

They suddenly seemed a little afraid of me, but whether it was because I was tougher than they'd all expected, or because my throw might mean more trouble for them in the future from Velda's gang, I couldn't tell.