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It was a bright, warm morning early in September, and the playing fields of St Mary’s sparkled in the autumn sunlight. In the distance, a class of girls was playing hockey. As we turned the corner of the main building, heading for Miss Chastaine’s room for a French class, we stopped for a moment to enjoy the scene. “Are you an athlete, Mr Johnson?” my colleague asked. “Oh, I dabbled in tennis a bit at college. I was never very good at it.” “You are too modest, I think. I have it on good authority that your athletic credentials are first class. That’s one reason you got the job.” Her voice was warm, but there was a severity in her expression which warned me not to feel too pleased with this compliment. “After all,” she continued, “it wasn’t your academic ability, was it?” “Well, I don’t…”“Oh, don’t get defensive, Mr Johnson. We are in desperate need of a tennis coach. If you can prove yourself capable, you will earn our undying gratitude. And the girls will adore you. If you can teach them some literature as well, that will certainly be a bonus.”“I’ll try to make myself useful,” I said sourly, smarting from her patronising manner. “Do so,” she said. “Sporting ability is highly respected at St. Mary’s. The girls do two hours of P.E. every day. Health and good discipline, Mr Johnson. These are our values, and you will do well to appreciate them. Come on, it’s time for class.”Feeling more like a wayward pupil than a new teacher, I followed Miss Chastain into the building.“We will have the annex to ourselves, Mr Johnson. There is only one senior class this year.”“I hope they’re keen,” I commented.“You shall see and judge for yourself.”The silence of the corridor was broken now by a chatter of young voices, and as we rounded the corner, we found a group of about a dozen girls waiting bahis siteleri for us. They were gathered in small groups, chatting casually, but the sudden appearance of Miss Chastain jolted them into action. “Line up girls.”They obeyed with alacrity. All conversation ceased immediately and the girls formed an orderly line against the wall. Taking her time, Miss Chastain began inspecting the girls’ uniforms and readiness for class. Being an old-fashioned school, St Mary’s insisted on school uniforms even for the senior year, and had strict rules about hair, makeup and jewellery, rules that had been drummed into me relentlessly during my first week. Although seniors were allowed more freedom than the other years, the importance of protecting the girls’ modesty was repeated over and over. Excessive makeup had to be washed off. Forbidden items were confiscated. I had mixed feelings about such strict rules, but I had to admit that Miss Chastain’s class looked very smart in their grey and white uniforms. Each girl wore a crisp white shirt and a light grey, pleated skirt. And although the uniform was identical to that of other years, the seniors carried it off with plenty of style. Their shirts were close-fitting and the sleeves cut high, so the girls’ arms were bare almost to the shoulder. The skirts, which elsewhere in the school dropped conservatively to the knees, in this class revealed more of the girls’ legs, and the hems spread outwards in a flattering curve. In the summer months, the seniors were also allowed to wear plain white trainers, which the girls all wore with no show socks. It was a rule meant to encourage physical activity. And I have to admit, the whole class was glowing with health As I watched the inspection unfold, it quickly became clear that Miss Chastain was not canlı bahis siteleri to be messed with. One girl was sent to the toilets to wash off her lipstick. Another was asked to remove a bangle. When she got to the end of the line though, the teacher’s back stiffened, and I sensed a more serious confrontation. The student she has stopped before was a remarkably pretty girl of about medium height, with loose shoulder-length hair and soft features. Her uniform was as neat and tidy as the other girls, and she was not wearing makeup or jewellery, as far as I could see. Only a streak of chestnut in her almost black hair set her apart. And yet, there was something casual in her posture that seemed to irritate her teacher intensely. “Stand up straight, Rachel,” Miss Chastain ordered. The girl reluctantly obeyed. “Break time is over now. You should be ready for class.”“Yes, Miss,” she replied, in a neutral voice. “Is your homework finished?” “Yes, Miss.”“And is your uniform correct today?”The girl blushed and did not answer. The question confused me. Rachel’s uniform was exactly the same as the other girls, as far as I could see.“Show me please, Miss Chastain ordered. “Top first.”To my amazement, Rachel then undid the top three buttons of her shirt and held it open. Leaning forward slightly, Miss Chastain peered down at the girl’s chest and I suddenly realised that she was inspecting Rachel’s bra. What the hell? I thought. But my surprise was only just beginning. “Very good,” said Miss Chastain, in a businesslike fashion. “Now bottoms.” “Oh Miss, don’t make me do it again. It’s not fair!” The panic in the girl’s voice erupted suddenly. But it only seemed to make her teacher more determined.“It’s your own time you’re wasting, Rachel.” “But Miss!” The girl jerked her head in my canlı bahis direction. “Not in front of him.”“The rules are the same for all the teachers. Don’t worry about Mr Johnson. Now, do we need to continue this after school, or are you going to do as you’re told?”There was something ominous about the way Miss Chastain said ‘after school’ that sent a shiver through the whole class.The girl gave a petulant cry of frustration, but she was clearly defeated. Sighing to show how ridiculous this all was, she reached down, took her skirt in both hands, and lifted it waist-high. After a moment, she dropped it again. “Happy now?” The French teacher said nothing but held the girl firm with her iron gaze. “Oh fine!” said the exasperated girl. Once again, she lifted the hem of her skirt, but this time brought it higher and held her position, exposing a pair of pale blue knickers.“I see!” said Miss Chastain, triumphantly. “Come here, Mr Johnson.”“Oh what?” I gasped. “Perhaps I should leave you in… a…” I thought about making a bolt for the exit, but Miss Chastain’s manner was irresistible, and I reluctantly joined her before the blushing student.“Please note, Mr Johnson, that the uniform policy insists upon plain white underwear. Is the girl complying?” “No,” I replied, stiffly. “Please check for yourself, Mr Johnson.”The gentle beauty of Rachel’s exposed body made it rather difficult to focus. My pulse was racing. Should I protest at this disgraceful scene? I wondered. Would anybody even listen to me if I did? My eyes descended to the opening of Rachel’s shirt, and had a generous view of her small, full breasts, neatly supported in a simple white bra. My gaze travelled to her waist, where her soft brown arms held up her skirt, and there was a strip of her firm belly above her knickers. I did not dare to look at her lovely bare legs, but I confirmed the illegal underwear as neutrally as I could manage. Rachel’s panties were a small cotton pair with a little bow at the top, cut high above her slim, gently curving hips.