The Senior Girls At St. Margaret's Academy For Girls meet around the May Pole - who this year is Jack Wimple a veritable horse - to bond and celebrate with an orgy. It is a sexual ritual in which girls in a repressive finishing school let themselves loose under a bright moon in a clearing in the woods - releasing all inhibitions.
SAMPLE
In the hour after lights out not an eye had closed in the Senior Dormitory at St. Margaret's Academy for Girls. Alert ears listened attentively as the sounds within the upper class finishing school quieted and sleep came throughout the rest of the student body. At last the doors closed on the cells of the final monitor nuns as they retired to their own good night’s sleep. The whispers of muted shoes along the stone passageways had been stilled and the overseers of the school slept secure in the belief that their charges had been safely tucked away for the night.
The twelve seniors rose as if on cue just as the clock struck eleven. In their white night dresses they turned as one and tucked their pillows under their covers, creating sleeping forms in their beds in case a watchful eye should check during the night. They didn’t expect that anyone would check, but they never took chances.
They dressed in utter silence. The discarded nightdresses revealing matching white lace underwear with white stockings and garter belts and thongs that were quickly covered by knee length, pleated and plaid uniform skirts, crisp white shirts with collars, plaid neck ties and Navy blue, v neck pullovers. The pictures of innocence in their uniforms. Finally, navy blue knee high socks were pulled over the black stockings, to keep them from snagging, but the penny loafers were kept in hand to mute the passage of their owners feet as they made their way in utter silence to the giant portal with its smaller access door that was the demarcation line between the school and the world outside its walls.
Outside the door the shoes were slipped on and the group followed Penelope Swindle single file down the gravel path toward the pine woods that surrounded the ancient edifice, where for centuries privileged girls with raging hormones had been sent to be turned into proper, marriageable young women well prepared to manage manor homes, large staffs and hordes of children like themselves.
"Doesn't this feel like the story of 'The Twelve Dancing Princesses?'" Little Amy Allen, the smallest of the group whispered. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
"Except we're not going to wear out our shoes," Penelope Swindle said, her voice caustic with sarcasm.
"Well, there is that," Amy said. She felt chastened as she often did by Penelope.
It was the First of May; the night on which, in times past, when druids had met in the light of the moon to dance around the May Pole. They girls knew they carried on a millennium of tradition. Though the question of whether the druids had been virgins was still up in the air and therefore whether being a virgin was obligatory was an open question. The race to lose their virginity had been a major objective of their last year at the Academy. To anyone's knowledge Little Amy was probably still the only one who was legally pure in the entire graduating class.
The well-traveled path through the woods lead to a clearing known to generations of Miss Margaret Senior girls; a clearing that sat midway between St. Margaret's and St. Bartholomew's, the school where equally privileged young men of a certain class were sent to learn how to manage their vast fortunes. Their mutual families always intermarried between the schools. It was a tradition and the May Pole dance was an integral celebration of their senior and therefore 18th year. This night happened to fall three nights after the Spring Dance, when the proper young students in their formal attire had met under the watchful eyes of their chaperones, sized each other up, and whispered arrangements for their true Dance of Spring.
SAMPLE
In the hour after lights out not an eye had closed in the Senior Dormitory at St. Margaret's Academy for Girls. Alert ears listened attentively as the sounds within the upper class finishing school quieted and sleep came throughout the rest of the student body. At last the doors closed on the cells of the final monitor nuns as they retired to their own good night’s sleep. The whispers of muted shoes along the stone passageways had been stilled and the overseers of the school slept secure in the belief that their charges had been safely tucked away for the night.
The twelve seniors rose as if on cue just as the clock struck eleven. In their white night dresses they turned as one and tucked their pillows under their covers, creating sleeping forms in their beds in case a watchful eye should check during the night. They didn’t expect that anyone would check, but they never took chances.
They dressed in utter silence. The discarded nightdresses revealing matching white lace underwear with white stockings and garter belts and thongs that were quickly covered by knee length, pleated and plaid uniform skirts, crisp white shirts with collars, plaid neck ties and Navy blue, v neck pullovers. The pictures of innocence in their uniforms. Finally, navy blue knee high socks were pulled over the black stockings, to keep them from snagging, but the penny loafers were kept in hand to mute the passage of their owners feet as they made their way in utter silence to the giant portal with its smaller access door that was the demarcation line between the school and the world outside its walls.
Outside the door the shoes were slipped on and the group followed Penelope Swindle single file down the gravel path toward the pine woods that surrounded the ancient edifice, where for centuries privileged girls with raging hormones had been sent to be turned into proper, marriageable young women well prepared to manage manor homes, large staffs and hordes of children like themselves.
"Doesn't this feel like the story of 'The Twelve Dancing Princesses?'" Little Amy Allen, the smallest of the group whispered. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
"Except we're not going to wear out our shoes," Penelope Swindle said, her voice caustic with sarcasm.
"Well, there is that," Amy said. She felt chastened as she often did by Penelope.
It was the First of May; the night on which, in times past, when druids had met in the light of the moon to dance around the May Pole. They girls knew they carried on a millennium of tradition. Though the question of whether the druids had been virgins was still up in the air and therefore whether being a virgin was obligatory was an open question. The race to lose their virginity had been a major objective of their last year at the Academy. To anyone's knowledge Little Amy was probably still the only one who was legally pure in the entire graduating class.
The well-traveled path through the woods lead to a clearing known to generations of Miss Margaret Senior girls; a clearing that sat midway between St. Margaret's and St. Bartholomew's, the school where equally privileged young men of a certain class were sent to learn how to manage their vast fortunes. Their mutual families always intermarried between the schools. It was a tradition and the May Pole dance was an integral celebration of their senior and therefore 18th year. This night happened to fall three nights after the Spring Dance, when the proper young students in their formal attire had met under the watchful eyes of their chaperones, sized each other up, and whispered arrangements for their true Dance of Spring.
