 by Loki Renard.jpg)
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 288(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Hidden in the Swiss mountains, this proud institution is an exclusive bastion of tradition and refinement, where for hundreds of years the daughters of the rich and powerful have been molded into perfectly poised young ladies.
Storm wants none of that.
When forced to attend Birchbane, she quickly sets about trying to get expelled by being an unholy terror, scandalizing the staff, influencing other girls to rebel, and creating scenes of chaos and anarchy in the previously quiet and refined halls.
This behavior inevitably puts Storm at direct and painful odds with resident disciplinarian, Jane Strict. Naturally, Storm rebels against Jane’s discipline just as she rebels against everything else, but she may have met her match in the stern woman.
Will Jane’s attentions finally calm the tempest inside Storm? Or will this young woman make good on her vow to bring Birchbane, and everyone in it, to their knees?A Strict School is a coming of age discipline novel containing old fashioned spankings and other institutional punishments. It is not a romance.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1 IN THE PATH OF THE STORM
Slowing to a halt in a long hallway within a historic building, Storm glances at the note between her fingers, not sure if she’s in the right place. All she has to go on is a brief missive penned in a neat hand:
See me, please. SJ.
There’s an address below and an office number. This building isn’t on the main campus of the school she is attending while on exchange in Basel, Switzerland. It’s in the city proper, which she is quite familiar with as she spends more time there than in classes anyway.
The note was neatly folded when she got it, but it is crumpled now, some of the letters lost in the creases. She glances back up at the door, where a brass plate bears two letters: SJ.
Seems like the right place. She’s not sure why, but a tremor of uncharacteristic trepidation passes through her as she knocks.
“Come in!”
A crisp female voice calls out from the interior. Storm sighs and pushes the door open, hoping she can get this over with quickly. It’s probably some bureaucratic nonsense. The Swiss love that sort of thing.
The room she finds herself in is a spacious office with light streaming in from the windows at the far end. The hall was dark, and it is taking a second for her eyes to adjust.
“Storm Jones?” Her name comes from near the windows.
“That’s me,” Storm says with a half smile. “You wanted to see me?”
“My name is Jane Strict,” the woman says. “I am a professional disciplinarian, and you have been referred to me by Gymnasium Hefelstein.”
Gymnasium Hefelstein is the school Storm is attending while on scholastic exchange. Attending might be stretching the meaning of the word, though. She goes there once in a while, when it seems like it might be fun or interesting. It is generally neither of those things.
There’s a pause in which Storm shrugs. It feels like she is expected to say something, but what is there to say? She’s not exactly surprised, and she’s certainly not worried. It is interesting that the voice speaks not in a Swiss accent, but in a rather formal Australian accent.
“Where have you been?” Miss Strict asks the question.
“You’re Australian,” Storm ignores every important thing that was just said in favor of that revelation.
“I am.”
“‘Straya,” Storm mumbles under her breath, as is tradition.
“Where have you been?” The woman repeats the question. “And shut the door, please, unless you intend on becoming a spectacle.”
Storm does as she is told without moving. She simply lifts a foot and kicks backward, pushing the door closed in a way that leaves no doubt it has been firmly closed. Some might say slammed.
“Where have I been?” Storm repeats the question with an innocent lilt as she shuts the door with concussive certainty. She can’t quite maintain her innocent demeanor, however, or a twist of her lips that indicates a knowing amusement.
Miss Strict has asked a vague question, but Storm knows what it means, even as she plays dumb. It’s not often she is called out, and that means it is not often she gets to revel in the disobedience she has been enjoying of late. Most of the Swiss students are terribly worried about their grades and such, but Storm has already done her exams in New Zealand. She is free in a way they are not, and she is making the most of it.
Having turned eighteen in the last few weeks, she is feeling immensely full of herself. She has a stipend from her exchange program, and a city at her feet. Technically, she needs to meet certain standards of behavior to maintain the scholarship, but she hasn’t worried about that much.
Now, however, she can feel disapproval emanating from the end of the room like a force of nature. As it makes her feel ever so slightly unsettled, she shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, her fingers finding the omnipresent lighter in the front right and curling around it, thumb on the spark wheel, rolling it without flicking the tab that sparks fire. The quiet grinding is comforting.
The woman is silhouetted by the Rhine which flows by outside the old windows, a peaceful, broad span of water. The Mittlere Brücke, or middle bridge, complete with its ancient guard towers, is visible from this room. Basel is old and rich with experiences yet to be had, and even as Storm stands in the presence of this stranger, part of her mind is still out there in the streets.
“You haven’t been in class, that much is certain.”
Jane’s words bring Storm back to the room, and to the inconvenience of this detour from another day out. As Jane speaks, she moves away from the window slightly. The light that kept her in feminine silhouette now resolves her into the figure of a fit, attractive woman with lustrous dark brunette hair. She is dressed professionally and conservatively in a neat pencil skirt, fitted blouse, and high heels. She has an air of composure, and a light of something like danger in her gaze. A shapely brow is lifted at Storm, questioning, waiting for a response.