Origin of Fear Ch. 01

A Quick Author's Note:

A commissioner recently asked me to do a rewrite of the story "Principal Power." It's a story by Cindy Silver Eyes, posted on MCStories story back in 2012. My commissioner liked a few of the central ideas (fear as a tool for mind control, the elements of humiliation, and the fact that most of the characters were pretty easy to root against) but thought that I could give those ideas a better execution.

Reading the story — which is about a principal and a mind control artifact — for the first time, I realized that I had a very exciting opportunity to explore here. As you read, I hope you have fun learning more about one of the most... interesting characters I've had the pleasure of writing, and that you enjoy every twist and turn and reveal along the way.

(It is not necessary to have read the original to enjoy this homage -- it ends up being QUITE different -- and the story takes place in my own universe. You can consider it "canon" to the same degree as novels like BDE, BBA or TRANCE.)

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Cathy Clayton sat behind the wheel of her red BMW, staring through the windshield and out into the boarding school parking lot. Her fingers tightened around the smooth leather grip, then relaxed. She wasn't looking at anything in particular, just preparing herself for what the first encounter of her day promised to bring.

It's going to be alright, she told herself. Don't worry about it. You'll just ignore his attitude, his condescension and the way he strips you down and eye fucks you as soon as you enter the room. You've had a month of practice already. Just two more and then during Christmas break you'll have Richard buy you something nice as a present.

Cathy took a deep breath, then flipped down the sun visor and opened up the mirror to check her appearance. The ex-model couldn't hide her natural beauty, so the best she had been able to do was downplay it.

Her makeup was perfunctory, but her dark blue eyes still glittered. She had used only the barest hint of lip gloss, but her mouth still had its sensual pout. The grey cardigan she wore was intentionally loose, but couldn't hide the swells of her ample breasts. At least the long navy skirt went all the way to her ankles. It hid her dynamite legs and made her slightly more confident that her naturally hip-swinging gate wouldn't draw too much attention to her toned ass.

Sighing, Cathy steeled herself and climbed out of the car.

"Alright," the woman muttered, running through her mental to-do list. Her recent stint at grad school had taught her that organization was key. "English Lit in half an hour, they've been reading Dracula. Easy. We'll just cover the blatant homoerotic undertones and Stoker's methods for using the bite as a metaphor for sexual conquest. Before that, though..." The woman frowned and shuddered with distaste as her mind came back to rest on the unpleasant task in front of her.

Cathy Clayton had a meeting with the principal.

* * *

"Cathy!" Principal Joseph Berringer called, leaning back in his leather chair and kicking his feet up on the desk in front of him. "I know you're out there. Why don't you stop playing games and come in already?"

There was a moment's silence, and then the quiet sound of approaching footsteps. Several seconds later, Cathy Clayton was entering hesitantly through the open doorway.

Berringer's eyes began a blatant and thorough examination of Cathy's figure the moment she was in range, scanning from her simple ponytail to her paltry makeup and the dowdy uniform. There was, if anything, a hint of bored disappointment in the man's expression. He liked his women scantily-clad, and with a lot more humility. Still, the over-sized sweater and long skirt were tricks he'd seen over and over again in his time, and he didn't mind using a bit of imagination to visualize the curvy, delicious figure underneath. When he finally met Cathy's icy blue eyes, the principal gestured for her to approach.

"Come in, come in... Why don't you sit down?"

His voice was neutral, maybe even a little warm, but his thoughts were cold and calculated. My god, take a look at this slut, he thought. She's already afraid to come see me. It must be my reputation. The thought made his heartbeat quicken, and he felt his cock pulse gently in his lap.

The English teacher, in response, watched Joseph with the cold, distant gaze of a statue. It was as if she was pretending she were somewhere else, keeping her mind on another time and place. When she did move, it was with the slow, deliberate movements of someone who had to force themselves to obey a command given by a superior.

Berringer frowned. "I don't have all day," he snapped. "And close the door, why don't you?"

Cathy, who was already halfway seated, gave the principal a dirty look but did as he asked. While her back was turned, Joseph reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and retrieved a small, glittering object. It was hidden away in his palm by the time the woman was once again looking his way.

"Do you know why I've called you into my office today?"

His feet were still on the desk, and Cathy glanced at them with barely-disguised irritation before she answered. "No. I do not." Her voice was perfunctory, her expression hardly changing. It was like she was looking through the principal, instead of at him.

Disrespectful bitch, Joseph mused. Won't even call me 'sir.' Well, I'll straighten her out soon enough... With slow, deliberate movements, he lowered one foot and then the other to the floor, before leaning forward on his elbows and resting his chin on his fists.

The pair examined one another.

Joseph Berringer was on the younger side of middle-aged, but seemed to be on a trajectory to grow old gracefully. His face was clean-shaven, but with a hint of stubble that clung to his hollow cheeks. His hair was still thick, but beginning to go white at the temples, and his suit was crisp, tailored and expensive. He would, to many, look quite handsome.

None of this made any difference to Cathy Clayton, who regarded him with the same distant, disdainful expression she might use on a nearby slug or crawling worm. By now, Cathy knew enough about the man to realize that his appearance of respectability was only skin-deep.

Joseph Berringer had been the principal of Hawthorne High for half a decade, and in that time had come to be regarded something of a tyrant. His appreciative eye was more than willing to fall on any one of his school's attractive young women — he seemed to have a thing for cheerleaders — and he dished out heavy-handed discipline to the school's young men with casual and almost vindictive pleasure. It was a widely-circulated rumor among the faculty and administration of Hawthorne that the principal was abusing his position to get kickbacks from local businesses, and it was also commonly-held that he had some sort of sway over the school board that prevented him from being fired.

"Let's talk about your outfit," the man said abruptly, startling Cathy from her thoughts. His smile was more of a smirk when she started and shot him a suspicious look.

"My... outfit?" Cathy's voice was hesitant, but her thoughts were furious. What? she wanted to furiously demand. Are you going to complain that I'm not dressed up like that sexed-up bimbo you call a secretary?

"That's right," the principal agreed smoothly. "I think your choice of personal dress code has a direct bearing on a complaint that I recently received from several of your students." The man was sitting forward now, opening his hands in a reasonable gesture. Something glinted in his palm, and Cathy pause long enough to look away from Joseph Berringer's face to see what it was.

"A complaint?" The English teacher furrowed her brows, and she sounded a little distracted as she examined the coin. It sat, quiet and heavy and menacing, in the principal's hand.

"As you know," Berringer continued, "Hawthorne High is a modern institution which recognizes that an overly-strict dress code can... limit... the personal stylistic creativity of our students." He turned his hand over and began to slowly tip the coin from one knuckle onto the next. "Your own dress style is quite conservative, isn't it Cathy?"

The woman's dark blue eyes flashed and she looked back up into Joseph's face. "I dress professionally, if that's what you mean," she told him, her voice edged with contempt. "And besides, what does that have to do with this complaint you mentioned? You can't seriously expect me to believe one of those... that one of my students lodged a complaint about my fashion choices."

The principal silently raised one eyebrow. He felt a thrill of excitement as Cathy's gaze fell back onto the coin and the angry furrow between her eyebrows twitched into a frown of concern.

"Was it Reichenbach or one of his... his cronies?" A cold trickle of inexplicable nervousness ran down Cathy's spine as she thought of the football player. Her eyes watched the golden circle that was rolling back and forth... back and forth across the principal's knuckles. "If a boy makes an inappropriate comment or otherwise disrupts my class, it's my job as his teacher to discipline him." Her tone was defensive.

"And you don't think you've been taking it a little too far?" Joseph had seen this before. It was a classic case of a new, attractive teacher trying to eliminate her students' hormones by punishing them.

It's not their fault they can't keep their eyes off this sexy minx, the man thought. If only she weren't such an uptight bitch. She's sent four of my star football players to detention in the last two weeks. And gave half a dozen more strict warnings, the last one for saying that she "looked good in blue."

"Of course not," the woman replied. "I... I need to maintain order in the classroom." But her voice, for the first time, had a hint of uncertainty. Am I being too strict? Cathy wondered. Her dark blue eyes locked onto the coin, watching as it rolled smoothly from the back of one finger to the next.

A vague sense of unease began to build within her.

I'd chew this dirtbag out if I didn't need this job so bad... she thought, angry with herself for how unsettled she was in the principal's presence. I just wish Richard hadn't asked me to give up modeling. I may have gotten a Masters in teaching, but modeling was sooo much easier. Just show men these puppies and let them throw money my way for the privilege of taking photographs.

Without really thinking about it, Cathy had leaned forward and tugged the front of her sweater tight across her tits, accentuating the big, bouncy funbags. She realized she'd trailed off, staring at the glittering golden coin, and glanced back up at Berringer with a flash of alarm.

"What's that?" she demanded. There was a flash of fear in her face as she jerked her chin in the direction of the golden disk.

"Your students say it's more than 'maintaining order,'" the principal went on mildly, ignoring her question. "They say you're acting like an uptight bitch." Berringer could barely hide his smile as the words landed and a jolt of cruel, pleasurable satisfaction ran through his body.

Cathy was so stunned that her mouth dropped open and she pulled in sharp gasp. Unfortunately, all this did was draw even more attention to her straining breasts.

The principal wet his lips as he eyed them. That's right, he told Cathy Clayton silently. I'll cut you right down to size. "I think it would be better for everyone involved," he told her, before she could muster an outraged reply, "if you started to be a little more relaxed. Dress a little more fun, for starters."

Cathy swallowed, her own lips still parted to admit quick, quiet pants. The sense of discomfort she felt was growing now. There was a prickling sensation down her back, like someone was standing very close behind her. "But..."

She paused. Her eyes flicked, briefly, from the flashing disk up to Berringer's amused eyes and then back. There were strange symbols on either side of the coin, symbols that seemed to squirm and twist and whisper into the back of her mind. Something told her, deep down, that if she agreed with the man her sense of unease would vanish.

Cathy Clayton's voice was barely a whisper. "Okay..."

"Excellent."

The principal's hand snapped closed around the coin, and Cathy blinked. It felt like she'd been sitting in a darkened room and someone had abruptly flipped on the lights.

"That's all, Cathy." Principal Berringer's tone was dismissive in the extreme. "Hopefully things will begin to improve as you continue to improve your attitude."

The blonde shook her head, clearing away the dark, twisted shadows from her thoughts. The sense of immediate fear was gone. Now, all that was left was a seed of anxiety in the back of her mind. She ignored the man's words and stood abruptly, pushing back her chair. "I have class," she muttered, before beating a hasty retreat.

The woman glanced over her shoulder as she hurried out of the principal's office, and caught sight of Meghan, Berringer's stunning Latin secretary. The caramel-skinned beauty was tracing one manicured fingernail along her lips, eyes squarely locked on Cathy's ass.

"Dracula," the teacher muttered to herself, shaking her head again and suppressing a shudder as she strode away even more quickly. "Right..." She shoved the inappropriate behavior from her mind. It was too uncomfortable to think about.

Quietly, in the darkness behind her thoughts, the seed of fear began to grow.

* * *

The red BMW waited, engine idling, at the entrance to Hawthorne High's football field. It was almost six in the evening, and practice seemed to be running late.

Cathy felt a surge of relief, along with a healthy dose of irritation, when her younger sister jogged into view, wearing the uniform of Hawthorne's cheerleading squad. Behind her, Cathy could see the hulking shapes of Hawthorne's football team as they filed toward the locker rooms.

"Watch it!" she snapped on instinct as her sister's backpack, followed by a sweaty tangle of arms and legs, maneuvered into the passenger side. Cindy had ignored the door and instead clambered head first through the window. "These seats are real leather, you know."

"Don't be so uptight, sis," Cindy teased, maneuvering herself upright and pushing her skirt back down around her thighs. She glanced over her shoulder, towards the football team. "Do you think I flashed any of the football players my panties?" She grinned a wickedly innocent grin. "I'll bet I left at least one of them with a hard on. Teenage boys are so fun to mess with."

Cathy merely shrugged in reply and pulled away from the curb. She knew it was silly — she was a full-grown woman, after all — but the football players made her uncomfortable. One of them in particular.

"Hey, what's this?" Cindy had turned around and glanced into the back seat.

"Hmm...? What?" The 18-year-old's question snapped Cathy from her uneasy thoughts, and she glanced over her shoulder. Sitting on the backseat were half a dozen big paper shopping bags, sporting the logos of several edgy designer brands. "Oh... nothing. You know, just a bit of shopping."

She smiled uneasily and looked back to the road.

Cindy simply shrugged, then chattered on about high school drama and gossip until they pulled up in the driveway of their childhood home. "You sure you don't want to come in?" Cindy asked, grabbing her backpack and bending over to lean back into the car. "I know Mom always loves it when you stop by."

But Cathy shook her head. "Richard is expecting me," she fibbed.

Cindy hesitated, then nodded and flashed her bright, cheerleader smile. "No worries," she said. "I just figured I should extend the invite."

Cathy waited for her sister to shut the door before driving directly to the large, hillside mansion where she had recently moved in with her fiance. Lugging her bags in through the big front doors, she hastened upstairs to stash her purchases in the closet before drawing a bath and sinking down into the hot, foamy water to soak away her worries.

She tried not to think about the strange, disconcerting interview she'd had with Principal Berringer. She tried to tell herself that the new clothes were just for fun. She tried to believe that the uneasiness that had plagued her all day was finally over and done with. But the dark, sinking feeling in her stomach let her know that it would return in force if she didn't do just as she was told.

* * *

Autumn was coming quickly to a close at Hawthorne High, and while the afternoons were still warm the mornings had gotten chilly.

Cathy Clayton had decided to wear a long trench coat today. Mostly because of the cold, she told herself, and not because of her outfit.

When Cathy picked her sister up on her way to the school, Cindy had raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The teenager had learned in recent weeks that questioning her sister's odd behavior invited stony silence or irritable replies that no, nothing out of the ordinary had happened, piss off.

The sisters separated in the parking lot, Cindy hurrying to spend a couple minutes catching up with her friends before class while Cathy click-click-clicked down the hallway in impractically-tall heels and into her classroom.

Dress more fun, she thought silently to herself as she took off the trench coat and draped it across the chair behind her desk. Be more relaxed. The woman resisted the urge to take out her phone and use the selfie cam to check her outfit. She'd already seen herself from a dozen different angles in the mirror this morning. She knew how she looked.

But the fear of disappointing Joseph Berringer was more threatening than the thought of debasing herself in front of these high school seniors. And the email she'd received last night had explained her duty for today in no uncertain terms.

The bell rang, echoing throughout the school. The buzz and murmur of students filled the hallway. Students began to appear and file into the room, but their chatter cut off abruptly when they saw their teacher. Even by the time Cathy Clayton's classroom was full, there was an almost unnatural silence. Cindy, one of the last students to enter the room, sat near the front of the class with a shocked expression on her face.

When all of her students were present, Cathy swallowed, wet her lips, and stood up from where she'd been seated back against her desk. Her outfits had been growing steadily more outrageous for several weeks, but today she could practically hear the creaking strain on half of the zippers in class.

Just the sight of the woman made most of Cathy's male students hard as steel in their pants.

The teacher's cashmere sweater was canary yellow and clung to her breasts and smooth stomach. The cold morning air and Cathy's evident lack of a bra meant that her hard nipples were obvious. Her white shorts were frayed along the hem, which arced across the top of her thighs, and her blonde hair fell in waves down around her shoulders. The woman's careful makeup accentuated her deep blue eyes and full mouth.

You will offer an official apology to your students for your past behavior. The first line in the principal's list of instructions. It sounded in Cathy's mind as she stood there for a quiet, terrifying moment.

"I'm sorry."

Her students, watching her with rapt attention, shared uncertain glances with each other.

"I'm sorry," she said again, trying to stop her voice from wobbling. "For being an uptight... an uptight bitch."