Strictland Academy Read online

  Strictland Academy

  By

  Carolyn Faulkner with Breanna Hayse

  ©2014 by Blushing Books®, Carolyn Faulkner and Breanna Hayse

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books®

  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Faulkner, Carolyn

  Hayse, Breanna

  Strictland Academy

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-422-5

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Table of Contents:

  Foreword from Breanna Hayse

  Preface

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  Carolyn Faulkner

  Breanna Hayse

  Blushing Books

  Foreword from Breanna Hayse:

  Every day, authors of erotica receive emails asking for something different: forbidden fruit, taboo, stories made up from hellish nightmares. Readers begging for characters like Vlad the Impaler, Pinhead, and Hannibal Lechter are flooding us with the challenge to step outside the box filled with teddy bears and bubble gum and dive into something beyond the imagination.

  We are reminded that darkness lurks inside the minds of all of us, and that many people, even the most gentle of souls, are fascinated with things of horror, are drawn to the forbidden, and delight in fear. When Carolyn approached me with the challenge to meet her in this place, I balked. Did I have the courage to sail down this river with her? If I did not, how would I ever see what lay hidden in the recesses of my own imagination? So I met her challenge ...

  This book is not for the faint of heart, or for anyone looking for a warm fuzzy to cuddle up to next to a crackling fire. True to the title, The Darkness Series, this is the first installment that will allow thousands of reader fantasies to be put to pen and paper. It is not a tale of romance, rather that of survival. Does good always overcome evil? Only time will tell.

  Strictland Academy

  Preface

  Bleakness swept over the colonies post World War IV. Men were scarce after the able-bodied were killed during the useless battles that scourged the earth, leaving so many women alone and without fathers, brothers, and husbands. Men were a desired commodity now, and only the well-to-do women were ‘blessed’ with the privilege of being allowed to select one as a permanent mate with the purpose of rebuilding the population. The term ‘blessed’ was a misnomer for the majority of remaining men were either past their prime, injured, or of questionable character. Despite the limited number of eligible men remaining on Earth, many were still dismissed by those women who had the money, and power, to be discriminating. These men were known as the Rejected.

  The Rejected had little recourse but to seek a wife through a State-run penal system. Desperation had driven many a woman to steal, kill and maim to survive, and those caught were sentenced to life behind bars with limited food, water and heat. There also existed private institutions for the less corrupt- and more eligible- girls who were determined to be adequate breeding stock by the government officials. These academies, financed by families and sponsors, and supervised by the State penal system, promised to ‘mold’ the unfortunate girl to be a perfect, submissive wife and mother. These couplings not only required State approval, but pregnancy required a permit.

  The only hope of escape from a lifetime of incarceration was to be selected by one of the Rejected, and submit to being the warm body he required to rebuild the shattered civilization. The monetary cost of this acquisition was high for him… but not as high as the cost paid by the young woman unfortunate enough to be noticed, and trapped, in a system without hope. This is their story….

  CHAPTER 1

  The windowless room was bare of furnishings, beyond the three ancient, chairless kitchen tables leaning against a wall lined with drab, milky-green tiles. The reclaimed décor, if that was what it could be called, was comprised of faded green and gold linoleum on the floor, and multiple, alarmingly bright bulbs suspended from the ceiling by a single wire. The limited availability of natural gas for heating was evident by the bone-chilling bite that penetrated the bodies of the three naked, young women. Bound hand and foot by unforgiving ropes, they pressed themselves fearfully against the frigid cold wall in a useless effort to find some warmth.

  Hours had passed since the girls had been uprooted from their homes and taken away by a two-man ‘correction’ team garbed in black. They each were placed in an unmarked, windowless van, and no answers responded to the myriad of questions as they began the long drive into the night. The rocking of the vehicle, coupled with the engine's drone, had each nodding off on their seats, unaware of what awaited them and their future. They only knew that they had escaped being sent to a State facility, a place where the general population of violent criminals was known to ‘cull’ itself for competition for food and clothing.

  They were jolted awake as the vehicles were parked; then each was held immobile by one man as the other forcefully stripped the girl bare of all clothing except for her socks. Threatened with gags if they refused to remain silent, she was blindfolded and trussed up like a Christmas goose before being escorted to the glacially cold room. One by one, each girl was carefully deposited on the hard floor and the blindfolds removed. Final warning orders were issued: remain as you are, and do not speak.

  Terror and embarrassment blanched the faces of all three as they struggled to avoid eye contact with one another. Their nudity, coupled with an unpredictable future, forced them to hunker down and cower away. The redhead, Molly, attempted to hide her generous endowments with moderate success, her breasts burgeoning out from under her arms as she fought to conceal her ample softness. Thoughts of modesty were not her concern at this point—just trying to keep warm. After an hour of terrified silence, Molly finally gave way to her need to hear a human voice, even if was only her own.

  “I'm Molly. Molly Petry," she whispered, disregarding the warning to maintain absolute silence. She continued, comforted by the sound of her own voice in the icy stillness of the bright room. "This is so surreal. I can't really grasp what is happening. I was ... uh, in a bit of trouble, and this judge, Jeremiah, told me and my mother that the only option was attending a reformatory academy or being sent to the state penitentiary. He showed us articles about all the terrible things that happened there to girls my age, and it terrified Mother into promising to pay anything to keep me out of there.”

  She shifted, wincing as her hipbone clipped against the stony hardness of the wall. “He said it really wasn't up to Mother, except that she needed to completely support my decision. He then emphasized that this academy was very strict, so that next time I felt tempted to do anything wrong, I would think twice. He promised I would receive an education that would prepare me for the rest of my life. Seriously? I can't afford to select a decent man, no one wants one of
those Rejected ones,” she shuddered. “I would be stuck going through trash cans if I didn't do something. So it's a reform school. I figured, how bad could it be?"

  With no one else responding, Molly growled, "That nasty-ass judge told my mother that she had failed in her responsibility towards me. He made her cry! It wasn't her fault that my father was killed during the war! He then told her that he was tempted to bring her up on charges for parental neglect as well. Nothing I did was my mother’s fault, for God's sake! I was the stupid one. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to her when these people showed up at my door. They pushed my mom out of the way, grabbed my arm and shoved me into a van like I was a piece of meat."

  Still getting no reaction, Molly muttered to herself, "Damn, these ropes are tight and my fingers are too cold to loosen them." She took a deep breath, while she struggled against the intricate knots at her ankles, disturbed that the only sound other than her own voice was the soft sobbing that came from the little blonde closest to her. In an effort to provide some comfort, Molly scooted closer and timidly touched the girl's shoulder with her elbow.

  Molly sighed as the little thing tried to stifle her cries. "This really sucks, huh? What's your name?" Molly asked.

  "April," came the muffled answer, as the blonde shifted her weight on the firm roundness of her backside.

  “Did the same type of thing happen to you two?" Molly asked. Slowly both April and the black-haired girl adjacent to her nodded their heads.

  Molly looked around, her voice growing stronger, “Well, I don't know about you, but I would not call this place a school. It seems to be more like an institution or one of those challenge facilities, and I bet you that this so-called judge is pocketing away the money he is getting from our parents. It doesn't matter to me; I am out of here. This treatment is obscene and demented. I have changed my mind and don't care what my mother paid these people. She would be sick to her stomach if she knew what has happened so far. How can a place like this stay in business! This has got to be illegal, and I intend to report this."

  Still unable to loosen the bonds, Molly concentrated on trying to stand. She was able to rise to her knees just before the heavy door abruptly opened and permitted the entrance of three severely dressed older women with high-collared, shapeless black dresses, black sensible shoes, and black hosiery. Their hair was pulled up into tight buns, causing the skin of their faces to stretch. They were followed by a pale, sickly looking gaunt man, also dressed in black, who tapped a small black leather-bound book continuously against his thigh.

  Without one utterance, one of the women captured Molly's wrists and forced them to the floor, while the second woman set about repeating the gesture to the girl's ankles. The oldest of the three, with steel-gray hair and black, narrow eyes, stood before Molly and elegantly produced a long, thick paddle from the folds of her dress.

  The menacing instrument was silently displayed before Molly's terror-stricken gaze. Burned upon one side were large letters that read 'OBEDIENCE' while the other side was laden with deep, elaborately carved sentences. Molly could not help but look closer, horrified to discover that they were a set of rules, obviously designed to impart wisdom directly to the penitent's flesh via her behind.

  “You may commence, Attendant Hazel,” the man intoned dully. His voice rose as he began reading methodically from the worn book:

  “Thus stating in Strictland Academy Book of Declarations.... The reprobate student having performed a deed or demonstrated a behavior deemed needful of correction by her betters, will be immediately placed in a contrite position and undergo castigation for as long as is considered necessary, such that her superiors believe she is truly regretful of her actions and she be willing to come into compliance with the regulations as stated in the Doctrine, submitting herself fully to their authority over her mind and body."

  The moment the man said to commence, Attendant Hazel brought the paddle down on Molly's bare behind with determination and sense of absolute purpose. The cracking sound of the wood connecting with flesh made Molly’s two terrified companions shriek and jump as though they, too, were on the receiving end of the cruel, calculated blows.

  Attendant Hazel's paddle toured the entirety of the supple young skin available to her, landing crisp, sharp swats down each buttock and its accompanying upper thigh. Momentary indentations settled into the bright pink flesh with every crack, and the paddle moved rapidly and repeatedly over territory that had not had the opportunity to recover from the first assault. As she marched that implacable paddle up and down poor Molly's rump and across the upper portion of her soft thighs, Attendant Hazel remained completely oblivious to the piteous squeals and moans the recipient emitted with each fierce crack. Molly's screams reached a deafening pitch that echoed noisily in the sparsely furnished chamber, the volume and intensity of which would lead an uninformed eavesdropper to believe that the girl was being torn limb from limb.

  The paddle rose and fell relentlessly, painting Molly's bottom in broad, crimson swaths. Molly felt the two women shift positions slightly, so they would not be a barrier to the other inmates’ fields of vision. Through eyes nearly blinded by tears, Molly could make out the slight smirks on the women's faces as they looked towards the other two girls. Those smirks indicated their satisfaction in the terror registered upon the young observers when, with horrifying clarity, the understanding that a picture of their own futures was being painted across Molly's posterior.

  The man silently came to stand by Attendant Hazel's side. He watched as several more strokes castigated the flesh of the young bottom before he nodded. Immediately, the paddling ceased, and Attendant Hazel stood rigid and tall before him, while Molly remained anchored by the human restraints leaning heavily on her hands and ankles. Barely able to breathe through her sobs, Molly was dumbstruck—her head swimming and dizzy from pain. An intense burn sizzled through every pore, and she found herself frozen, unable to think rationally. She was in such a state that, when the man introduced himself, she comprehended very little of what was said.

  “I am Headmaster Judas. I am the President of Strictland Academy. Molly Petry, you have transgressed against your mother, the memory of your deceased father, and society. You have proven yourself undeserving of privileges afforded to an adult by behaving in an unacceptable manner for a mature and responsible young lady. According to these papers that hold your signature, you have made the conscious choice to voluntarily attend Strictland Academy in lieu of incarceration. You will thusly remain here as an inmate until such a time as your instructors and I deem that you have learned to honor and obey all authority, and become eligible to go through the process of selection to gain a husband."

  He paused for a long moment, his words echoing in disbelief in Molly's head. His lecture continued: “Look at me. You were brought here and placed in this room in a very specific and deliberate manner, which included being physically separated from the other girls. You were also instructed by your procurers to remain in place and maintain silence. Yet, Molly Petry, you took it upon yourself to not only alter your position but attempt to initiate conversation. This blatant defiance is unacceptable. Here at Strictland, we expect—we demand—complete and utter obedience from our charges. Your opinion regarding fairness, methods, and legalities is not our concern. Only the result, the reform of the ill-mannered child into a responsible and prudent adult, and subsequently become a woman worthy of marriage, is our mission. Is this too difficult for you to understand?” He glared, his slightly clouded eyes boring into hers, “This simply means that if you are placed in a particular position or instructed to carry out a task, you are not to question the reasoning behind the actions or instructions of your superiors. You are not to act on your own. You are to submit and comply. You are not to complain or voice protest. And above all things, you are to obey. Quietly and meekly, as befits a young woman."

  Molly barely caught her name, his name, and his emphasis on the word “obedience” in its various permutations
in the reprimanding tone of his voice. Her tears fell into a growing puddle beneath her face, and she was struck by fear and confusion as she remained frozen on her hands and knees. Her consciousness of thought was gone, knowing not what to say or do. Unable to halt the uncontrollable weeping, she did nothing except focus on the fires raging over her backside.

  “Do you repent of your wrongdoing, Molly Petry? Do you submit to your punishment declared upon you for your transgressions?"

  Even incognizant as she was, Molly's personality would not permit her to simply acquiesce without some sort of a fight. She glared back at the man in rage. "You are a sick, sadistic bastard, and when the State find out about you and this judge, I swear that ..."

  Her sentence was unfinished, as he stepped back and offered a barely perceptible nod in Attendant Hazel's direction, setting the punishment in motion again. A cacophony of vicious claps, followed by fervently renewed moans and wails, bounced off the tiled walls. The loud popping of the paddle was counterpoised with another never-ending chorus of screams. The other two girls cowered against the wall, their bodies frozen in position as they stared in Molly's direction, mouths agape in disbelief. The remaining two staff members of Strickland remained unexpressive, offering no acknowledgement regarding Molly's pain or piteous cries for mercy as she begged for the punishment to end. Molly's resolve weakened, and she slumped. She had lost this battle.

  Finally, the Headmaster nodded again, stepping between Attendant Hazel and the weeping girl, this time forcing her to stare down upon his finely polished shoes as he firmly and solemnly repeated his question. It took every bit of strength for Molly to scrape together the presence of mind to whisper, “Yes."

  Headmaster Judas squatted closer to her head, exercising inordinate care not to allow even the edge of his clothing to make physical contact with her. His voice bellowed in her ear, “I couldn't hear you, Molly Petry. When you speak to your betters, you must do so clearly and in a voice meant to be heard. If not, your words might easily be missed and taken for rebellion, instead."