Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 15.

by Melissa 

Part 15. Talking to the dean at last. 

The next day, I stood nervously in the hallway of Elmwood Academy, my heart racing as I saw the message flashed by the biometrics system after I had placed my hand on the fingerprint scanner to access to the laundry room: "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Please suspend current cleaning duties and report immediately to the dean, Mrs. Cavendish." 

Rejoicing inwardly, I offered a silent prayer of thanks to Agnès, the receptionist. Her initiative in snagging this meeting with the dean had potentially saved the day. Now, I'd finally have a chance to explain myself to Mrs. Cavendish, the one person with the power to resolve this bureaucratic nightmare. Crucially, she could update my registration in the biometrics system and undo the identity mix-up that led me to be mistaken for my namesake, a delinquent girl sentenced by a Court to community service as school maid under the strict supervision of Mrs Henderson, the head maid. 

Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mrs. Henderson, who had been keeping a close eye on me. "Melissa, I've been meaning to warn you," she began, her tone grave. "Tread very carefully around Mrs. Cavendish, the dean. She's a woman of formidable sternness. If you claim to be a student and she doubts your word, things could turn ugly fast. She has the power to dish out extreme punishments, and even with my best efforts, there'd be nothing I could do to shield you from her wrath. Trust me, for your own safety, it's best to avoid telling her about any fantasies of being a student." 

I braced myself and decided to tell the truth. "I've got to do what's right, Ma'am, and that means clearing my name."

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 14.

by Melissa

Part 14. Glimmers of hope.

This was the first day of my second week at Elmwood Academy. It was still early morning, the first bell a distant threat in the quiet halls, but I couldn't wait any longer. Every second counted. After straightening my apron and maid's cap and scanning my fingerprint to open the door, I crept out of my cramped quarters in the maid's dorm, the stolen hours of sleep clinging to my eyelids like cobwebs. In my hand, I clutched the completed assignment, a testament to my nearly sleepless night. The hallway echoed with the soft thud of my steps as I navigated the labyrinthine corridors towards the student lockers.

I soon reached my destination, a stylish locker adorned with an elegant plaque bearing the name "Melissa Jones" and which should have been mine. I reached to the locker and put my fingerprint on the scanner. "Fingerprints recognized and identity as school maid Melissa Jones verified and authenticated. Access to student Melissa Jones' locker denied." Of course, the locker - my locker - was programmed to be used by the delinquent girl who had stolen my identity, not by me.

Suddenly a figure materialized from the shadows. It was the delinquent girl herself. Startled, I almost dropped the assignment. The girl, clad in her pristine schoolgirl uniform, eyed me with suspicion and a defiant scowl, a smirk twisting her lips. "Early bird, aren't we?" she drawled, her voice rough with sleep.

Caught off guard, I stammered, shoving the assignment towards the girl. "I, uh, I finished your assignment."

The girl took the paper with a disinterested shrug, not bothering with a thank you. Then, to my surprise, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled banknote. "For your troubles," she mumbled, thrusting the money into my hand.

I stared at the low-value banknote, torn between relief and hesitation. Taking money felt wrong and it was a very small sum, yet it might come in handy as I was completely penniless after all my means of payment had been confiscated on my arrival at Elmwood Academy. "Thank you, Miss... Jones," I stammered, dropping a clumsy curtsy out of habit.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 13.

by Melissa 

Part 13. The hidden garden. 

As I slowly made my way to my room to rest, still wincing of pain at each step, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with me? How could I feel such arousal when Sabrina was belittling me and had forced me to kiss her? Could she be right about me? Was I just a weak submissive girl craving to be dominated? The thought snaked its way through my mind, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. That couldn't be true, I muttered inwardly, desperate to return to a place of certainty. But the seed of doubt had been sown, and I was no longer entirely sure of myself. However, even if I really had submissive fantasies, something I was still reluctant to fully admit, that didn't mean I was going to sacrifice my dreams and give up my education. After all, not all fantasies are meant to come true. Instead, I promised myself that I would show Sabrina that I could be strong and ambitious. 

But another thing worried me. Could Sabrina be right about Elmwood Academy being a place where the students were corrupted and changed into horrible people? I didn't want to believe it, but I was no longer so confident in my previous beliefs, especially as I had witnessed time and again the contempt with which the students had treated me since I had put on the maid's uniform. The situation left me utterly bewildered. Everything I knew felt upside down, and doubt gnawed at the edges of my resolve. Yet, beneath the confusion, a spark of determination flickered. I wouldn't be swayed. My rightful place awaited, and I wouldn't rest until I took it back. 

I finally reached my room, a narrow space tucked away at the end of the maid's quarter. The hard cot beckoned me, promising a much-needed rest. But before collapsing onto the sheets, I paused for a moment, my hand on the door handle. There was something I had to do first. I couldn't shake the feeling that if I didn't confront it now, it would only grow worse. With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped back into the hallway. 

My heart thudded in my chest as I made my way to the reception desk, where Agnès, the receptionist, sat primly behind her ornate desk. The woman looked up at me with a cool, disapproving glance, her perfectly coiffed hair, sophisticated makeup and beautiful uniform a sharp contrast to my dishevelled appearance. "Yes, girl?" she said, her tone sharp. "What is it you need?"

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 12.

by Melissa

Part 12. The kiss. 

As I trudged through the rust-coloured landscape of Mars, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal beauty of the place. I was Melissa Jones, a proud astronaut of the first manned mission to the Red planet. The Martian sky was a deep, endless red, dotted with clouds that seemed to shift and dance like ethereal creatures. The ground beneath my space suit's boots was a patchwork quilt of red rock and dust, criss-crossed by the tracks left by my rover. It was eerily quiet, save for the occasional whir of the suit's life-support systems and the faint hiss of dust kicked up by her boots. 

But something was wrong. I felt very sore. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest. The first week of the mission had been filled with exhausting work, and I'd been on edge since the moment I'd landed on the Red planet. Now, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd pushed myself too hard. I'd been given strict orders not to overexert myself, but the allure of exploring this alien world was too great to resist. 

I gasped as I suddenly jolted awake, my heart racing and every muscle in my body protesting. It was then that I realized I was no longer wearing my spacesuit. I was Melissa Jones, but I wasn't an astronaut and this wasn't the vast expanse of Mars I'd been dreaming of for years. In fact, I was still clad in my scratchy maid's uniform from the day before. I was lying on a hard cot in a tiny room of the maid's quarter, the pale light of a single dim bulb casting eerie shadows across the cramped space. The air smelled stale and dusty, and my throat felt raw from the dryness. I sat up slowly, my head spinning, and rubbed at my eyes. This was just another day in the maid's quarters at Elmwood Academy. The same routine I'd been stuck in for a week now, forced to masquerade as a delinquent school maid at this prestigious boarding school where my life had been turned upside down by a cruel twist of fate, my identity stolen by my namesake, a girl from a disadvantaged background who had taken advantage of my misfortune to assume my rightful place. 

I groaned, rolling out of bed and onto the cold wooden floor of my tiny room. After having been punished the day before by having to move countless crates of wine, the pain in my back, shoulders, arms, legs, and even my neck was unbearable. I had never felt this sore in my life. As I sat up, my vision swam, and I had to clutch at my aching head. I couldn't possibly be as sore as I felt; it must be some sort of weird dream. I stood unsteadily, my legs wobbling, and made my way to the mirror. 

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 11.

by Melissa

Part 11. Discovering Elmwood Academy as a privileged student.

The morning sun peeked through the luxurious drapes, casting warm light across my room. I stirred, the weight of the previous night's realization still heavy on my chest. Was it all a dream? Would the other Melissa Jones - the redhead - arrive and shatter the illusion? But then, a knock on the door jolted me back to reality.

Opening the door, I was greeted by three girls, their faces alight with friendly smiles. Their polished uniforms and confident demeanours screamed "Elmwood Academy royalty." Yet, their voices held a warmth that surprised me. They introduced themselves as my next-door neighbours, privileged Elmwood students named Jessica, Emma and Olivia. Their voices held a warmth that surprised me. Used as I was to averted gazes and hushed whispers, this open friendliness felt surreal.

"Good morning, Melissa!" Jessica's voice rang out, bubbly and enthusiastic. "We saw you weren't out and about yet, so we thought we'd invite you to join us for breakfast in the lounge."

Emma, the quiet observer of the group, chimed in, "It's the most incredible spread, with everything you could imagine. And the company's pretty good too," she added with a wink.

Olivia, the fashionista of the trio, flashed a dazzling smile. "Come on, we wouldn't want you to miss out! Put on your uniform, and we'll show you the way."

The invitation hung in the air, laced with genuine kindness. I hesitated, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. Normally, the very idea of rich entitled girls would have made me bristle. But something about their genuine smiles and the warmth in their eyes disarmed me, and the thought of sharing a meal with these seemingly friendly girls, of experiencing another slice of this privileged world, was too tempting to resist. Taking a deep breath, I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Sure, thank you."

Hesitantly, I donned the unfamiliar schoolgirl uniform again, the soft fabric still unfamiliar against my skin but whispering promises of a different life. Joining my new neighbours, I followed them through the corridors, their laughter echoing in the grand halls. As I walked alongside them, their chatter filled the hallway, a symphony of excitement and plans for the day. I listened, absorbing their world, their language, feeling like an outsider peering into a secret club. But their casual acceptance, their lack of judgment, offered a sliver of comfort.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 10.

by Melissa

Part 10. Welcomed as a privileged student at Elmwood Academy.

The cacophony of announcements, hurried footsteps, and rolling luggage painted a vivid portrait of bustling life as I waded through the human current of the train station, on my way to the platform where my second-class carriage was waiting for me. Suddenly, I collided with a red-haired girl, the impact sharp and unexpected. I stumbled back, surprised, and my eyes met hers. She was the epitome of preppy perfection, designer labels adorning her like polished armour. Her outfit screamed wealth and privilege, a stark contrast to my own worn and somewhat trashy clothes that bear the quiet scars of a life less fortunate.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over me. The air thrummed with an awkward silence, thick with the unspoken difference between our worlds. Not wanting to give that rich bitch any opportunity to humiliate me, I decided to take the initiative and to have a little fun at her expense.

"You clumsy oaf!" I exploded in her face, my voice dripping with accusation and disdain. "Look what you've done!"

Taken aback by my words, the loser girl meekly apologized. As she began to gather her scattered belongings, I noticed that our train tickets had both fluttered to the ground. I quickly went down and retrieved her first class ticket.

"My ticket!" she exclaimed, her eyes glinting with surprise. "That's mine!"

"Oh, please," I scoffed at her with amusement. "Look at you, all dressed up like you're going to a debutante ball. You don't deserve a seat in first class."

Then I turned around and, before that dumb redhead could react, I hurried away in the crowd with her first-class ticket tightly clutched in my hand, leaving my own ticket on the ground.

Shortly afterwards, the train conductor materialized in front of me. A wave of apprehension washed over me as I faced him, fearing he'd confiscate the first-class ticket. Instead, to my surprise, he only offered a warm smile after examining it. "This way, Miss," he gestured forward, ushering me into the opulent first-class cabin. Without asking, he effortlessly lifted my luggage, making me feel instantly pampered. With a reassuring smile, he made sure I was comfortably seated before turning his attention to other first-class passengers.

Story: Biometrics don't lie. Part 9.

by Melissa

Part 9. A setback and a punishment

My heart plummeted as the receptionist's words washed over me. The glimmer of hope I had clung to, the possibility that Maria's intervention could give me back my true identity, seemed to vanish in an instant. "You didn't send the letter?" I gasped in surprise.

The receptionist, her gaze now avoiding mine, nodded slowly. "No," she admitted. "I... I read it first, out of curiosity. And after what I read, I couldn't bring myself to send it."

"You read my letter?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I did. And frankly, Miss Jones," she continued, her voice laced with disappointment, "it painted a far from flattering picture of your actions towards Maria. Allowing her to be falsely accused of theft and then, but only after needing her help, offering her money as a kind of consolation... it doesn't speak well of your character."

Shame burned through me, hotter than all the stoves I'd been forced to clean since my arrival at Elmwood Academy. The receptionist's words mirrored the self-recriminations that had haunted me since realizing the gravity of my mistake. "I know," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. "I was scared and selfish. And until now, I didn't understand the true cost of my silence."

"Maybe you just deserve what's happening to you," she continued, her voice devoid of malice but laced with a firm conviction. "Perhaps this experience is a harsh lesson, one you sorely needed."