Strictland Academy Read online

  “You'll wear these, girl, until you can prove to us that you can abide by the same rules that the other girls follow. You'll be changed by your prefect or myself when the others use the facilities, and no sooner."

  April bawled continually throughout this indignity. She was set free when they were finished, dragged by Attendant Angela to the spot of her humiliation and handed a big brush and a bucket filled with cold water and lye soap.

  “Clean that up. And it better be spic-and-span when I come to inspect it, or you will be going across my lap for a whipping that you will not forget for the next week. Get to work and cease with the tears."

  She glanced up to the observation rooms. Molly's eyes followed the direction, seeing three men pointing and clapping one on the shoulder. A lump formed in her stomach. This did not look good for her friend, on so many levels.

  Disheartened, and thoroughly embarrassed, April set about her chore as the lavatory bell rang and the girls lined up in order of rank around her. While everyone else was relieving themselves, April pursued the impossible task of trying to please Attendant Angela and, unknowingly, put on a good show for the mysterious viewers. She ended up diaper-less, on her hands and knees scrubbing away while the Attendant scourged her backside with a short, light birch bundle. With her tiny bottom speckled with angry, red wheals, April was returned to her cot and securely re-swaddled. This time she offered no fuss, for she had fallen asleep the second her body touched the mattress.

  ***

  Although exhausted, Molly was unable to sleep due to the throbbing pain to her lower regions and the constant chattering. The girls did not appear to be concerned with being caught talking in a low whisper. The attendants had all left, locking the door behind them, and the rule-breaking prefects were in charge. Questions were flung in Molly's direction like a barrage of bullets, focusing on food, word events, and, of course, men. Molly, fearful of the consequences upon her bedraggled behind, tentatively asked, “Wait! Aren't you afraid of being heard? What about the Attendants?"

  “They won't be back until they do last rounds at eleven or so, then we won't see them again until morning. They open the door, shine a light in here to make sure everyone's in bed, and then they go to bed themselves,” one of the girls stated.

  “Go to each other's beds, you mean,” someone suggested, as several of the girls snickered behind their hands. "And they also share in a couple of bottles of wine while doing it. You can smell it on them in the morning. They are not as holy and righteous as they try to make everyone believe, and you can tell by most of their sizes that food rationing is not on their selective agenda. The only one here who seems to be worth anything is Doc Wells.”

  He's a looker, too," another girl piped in. "I wouldn't mind being examined by that man."

  "Yeah, he got here about two weeks ago. Supposedly, the State is requiring that this hellhole keep a resident psychiatrist to monitor our progress; otherwise they are going to close us down and send us to the state prison. You already know the reputation that place has," a third voice added.

  "I heard he's related to the headmaster. Is that true?" Molly asked, her thoughts drifting to Patricia.

  "Yeah, some sort of distant cousin. I guess that is how he got in here. We also know that the same judge that insisted this to be the best place for us is in cahoots with the headmaster. They are brothers."

  "We were hoping that Doc Wells would help us. Maybe like he is helping your friend."

  Silence filled the room, the gloom filling the darkness.

  "This place is pure evil. There is no hope for any of us. We might as well accept that," a low, sad voice echoed, followed by murmurs of agreement. "We were all lied to and made to believe this ‘special training’ would make us more eligible to be selected by better men. The ones who have left here have never been heard from again, so we can only believe them to have been ... threatened ... or eliminated."

  "Who exactly are those people in the rooms above us? There always seem to be several watching everything." Molly asked.

  The other girls were silent for a while. "We believe they are Refused who have been recruited by the headmaster to purchase a permit to marry us. At least, some of us," one of the older girls said, somberly. "We have seen the really young, more attractive girls get 'transferred' to what they call a specialized unit during certain times of the year, and then we hear nothing about where they go off to. We all think they are put in a block to be sold to the highest bidder. We don’t think that the State even knows this is being done."

  “How do they justify the absences?” Molly’s voice shook with fear. "You said the State investigates this place. How can they hide what is happening here?" Molly asked, tentatively.

  “They probably either present forged documents that announce the girl’s demise or a fake marriage permit. Whatever they do, it has been enough to keep the State off their backs.”

  Her words confirmed Molly's deepest fears. She had been correct; Strictland Academy was simply a ruse to hide where the Headmaster and the judge made their real money!

  "And why hasn't Dr. Wells reported this? Does he know?"

  "He is new, and the attendants loathe him, so they are going to keep him in the dark as long as possible. None of us has been left alone with him to tell him anything, either."

  "Plus there are no phones and no way out of here. This compound is literally in the middle of nowhere, and there are no real roads or houses for miles," another voice added.

  "As for the State investigations, the headmaster set up a convenient little clause that allows them two weeks notice prior to a visit. That is just enough time to allow any major bruises to heal and to put some meat on us. But don't get your hopes up," a voice answered near her head, "these wardens know how to punish and not leave any visible evidence. They are not going to risk being accused of unnecessary violence and get sent to the State pen. Hell, if any of the inmates there found out who and what these bitches are… it would be their death sentence."

  "Believe it or not, you came at a good time," another girl piped in. "There should be an inspection scheduled any day now."

  "I just can't understand what they hope to achieve by this constant punishment thing," Molly said, feeling anger rise. "Why hasn't anyone fought back? The odds are like twenty to one."

  Once again, the room was silent. LeClair answered, "People disappear from this place. Ones that we know have not been claimed by an observer. It is about survival, and the more you can convince them that you will play the game their way, the better chance you have to live."

  "But what happens to the ones who aren't taken away? How long do you stay here?"

  "I've been here five years," LeClair said. "I was originally sent in for assault and battery. The reason I got to come here is because I am big and strong, and their goal is to make me into an attendant.”

  “Do you actually like it here? Do you like doing this shit to us? Molly demanded.

  “I do what I must to survive.” LeClair shrugged. “I get extra food and clothing, which is more than I would have had at the prison. My future is already decided."

  "The women who work in the cafeteria or go out to exchange laundry are all prior inmates here, too. They have no chance on ever getting a job after being sentenced to this place, and are too old to be of interest to an observer. They stay quiet because Strictland provides a means for them to survive."

  "Keep them enslaved, you mean."

  "Call it what you want. It assures those women remain loyal. The administrators depend on fear to keep this place running smoothly and to hide their tracks. If you haven't learned already, you don't have to do anything particularly wrong to earn all the thrashings you receive. The sole purpose is to keep you terrified and compliant. No one has ever had the balls to try to stop them, and no one ever will."

  "Do you ever adjust to it? Does it ever stop hurting so badly?" Molly asked, shifting her body.

  "No. You just learn to grit your teeth and take it the way they
want you to. Make enough noise to let them know you feel it, but not so much that they suspect you are resisting their so-called lesson. I'm sure your ass learned that the hard way so far."

  “Show us your bum!" One girl tugged her arm.

  "I really don't want to," Molly cringed. "Besides, it’s too dark in here."

  "We get a stream of light through a crack of the outside door. Show us."

  To encourage her, several of the girls crept over to the locked door and lifted the backs of their nightgowns to display their bruises. Several murmurs resounded from around the room. Reluctantly, Molly followed suit and slowly lifted the hem of her gown. She heard nothing but stunned silence for a long moment, and then whistles of apparent admiration.

  “Wow, I can't believe you can still walk. They lit into you with a vengeance, didn't they?" one girl said, gently touching the inflamed area.

  “Several times,” Molly answered, ruefully, as she straightened and let her gown fall about her ankles. "I can't think that April's butt is any prettier, though."

  “April?"

  “Compton,” Molly corrected herself.

  “The one who peed herself in front of Attendant Hazel?"

  “Yes, one of the other ... attendants took a real dislike to her.”

  “Attendant Angela?" came several knowing suggestions.

  “Yeah. She said that Compton was trouble, but she never did anything wrong."

  A small, shy girl who bunked near April spoke quietly and with an almost-eerie calm, as if she had personal experience of the situation she was speaking about. "I'm Evie. She always does that. She picks the smallest of us and makes their life even more of a hell than it already is here. Her punishments are only part of what she does. She lays claim to them and tries to block the observers from showing interest. I haven’t been picked up because she claimed I was infected with herpes."

  “Is being sold to one of those men any better than being here?” Molly asked, glancing up at the dark room.

  “We ask ourselves that question on a daily basis. None of us have come up with an answer yet.”

  Molly looked around in the shadows, able to detect the nodding of several heads. Fear seized her heart, wondering what else Attendant Angela might do to April. She didn't think she wanted to know.

  "So you think that these observers as demented as the rest of this place?"

  "I hate to think of it, but they are probably worse. They are not here to save us; they are here to find a body that they can use for their own sick pleasure. It is a different kind of hell," LeClair sighed.

  “So what's your sordid story? How'd you end up here?" Evie asked.

  Molly shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I guess it started when my mother felt I had failed her by not being placed on the early marriage listing. Bradley, this man I was secretly seeing, and I were fed up with the stupid laws and planned to run away. An acquaintance of mine slipped a bracelet into my pocket from a junk store. We both got arrested for that and I was given extra charges for flipping off a camera and telling the viewer to fuck himself. I later found out that the rat bastard had been issued a permit and was Selected by a rich woman because he had a pretty face. I have no idea what happened to her."

  "Was she pretty?"

  "No. Not really."

  "Then she has a better chance of survival than you do. They probably sent her to the state pen for a while, lucky bitch."

  "That place is a death trap! How could you imply she is lucky?"

  "You poor, naive little girl." LeClair patted Molly's arm. "It is all a game ... a giant lie. Those articles about the pen are mostly fake. They show them to you to scare you into this fucking hellhole. If Judge Jeremiah sees a price tag on your head, he will use whatever pull he has to get you here. He has money, power, and no conscience. That is a dangerous combination."

  Molly tried to hold back her panic. "How come none of your families have challenged him? Don't you think they would have demanded to visit you or something?"

  "They were blackmailed into silence, just like the former inmates. Every girl here has a bunch of younger siblings, right?" LeClair asked around the room. "None of us have fathers and all the mothers are low income and dependent upon crappy jobs to take care of their homes and kids, right?" More nods. "He threatens their jobs, their homes and their families. And if that way doesn't work, he threatens your life. If they don't agree to allow you to come here and to sign off all legal rights to see you, then he can no longer assure them of your safety."

  “I don't understand. When do I get to call my mother?" Molly asked quietly. "We were told that we get to call home every Sunday!"

  This statement sent a titter of laughter amongst the girls. “The only thing that happens on Sunday is you are free to heal from your beatings, study and get a dessert. Didn't you hear what I said? Your mother gave up all rights to you, Petry," LeClair said, bitterly. "That means that you don't get to call home. Ever. Not on your birthday, not on your Mom's birthday, not on Thanksgiving, not on Christmas. You don't call them; they don't call you. And you can write to them all you want, but I know for a fact that they burn any letters we send. I was on trash duty once, and I took out bags of them. And no letters come for us. Our families are warned that if they break the non-contact rule, they will be viewed as interfering with just process and be fined ten times the tuition. I don't know anyone of our families who could afford that. Judge Jeremiah made sure of that."

  "That asshole!" Molly growled.

  "That he is. Now let's get some sleep. It isn't good for me to be a bitch to you if I am really cranky," LeClair announced.

  CHAPTER 7

  Three more grueling days passed, each one more torturous to Molly's mind, body, and spirit. She had seen little of April during that time—and no sign of Patricia. She collapsed on her bunk, exhausted and sore, only to find herself being awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of someone stirring several beds over. Curiosity took over, and she crept to April's area to investigate the commotion.

  Her jaw slacked open as she witnessed the activity that drew the interest of the small crowd of onlookers. Instead of being bound by the usual cuffs and chains, April's wrists had simply been secured by a fellow inmate. She had been pulled down to the foot of the mattress with her hips on the edge, ankles lifted high in the air with her legs held wide up apart by two more eager girls.

  LeClair, the prefect who held the key to the padlock on April's rubber pants, sat on a short stool at the foot of the bed. She was gleefully removing April's diapers, as one would unwrap a special gift. After running her fingers delicately across the squirming girl's slit, the prefect lowered her head to April's exposed cunny and latched her lips quite enthusiastically onto April's soft, pink clit. The tiny girl squealed out her protests, receiving more attention in return. The prefect kissed her slowly and with gentleness, much unlike the painful pleasure she had been forced to endure under the doctor’s fingers. LeClair's tongue and lips replayed that naughty, titillating scene before her eyes, and Molly, like the other observers, could not find it within herself to tear her gaze away from the motion of the girl’s mouth or the arching of April's back.

  “Was she dry, LeClair?" someone in the crowd asked.

  “Yes, but she won't be when I get through with her. She is liking this; aren't you sweetness? This is so much better than what that nasty old doctor did to you, isn't it? Oh, don't be embarrassed. We all have had his fingers shoved up our twats."

  "Don't be so crude, LeClair,” someone laughed, “She is definitely a pretty one, though."

  "That she is. Beautiful, soft little pussy. And so sweet. Mmmm ..."

  After several minutes of April's writhing against LeClair's talented mouth, the prefect held up her index and middle fingers. "Time to see just how many men have been where I'm going now, girls."

  "No! Please! I've never ..." April begged.

  "Never? Are you telling me that you have never had a cock in this lovely little flower? Oh my!" LeClair chuck
led, slowly suckling on her own fingers before gently inserting them between April's widely spread legs. April squawked as she was carefully penetrated, her cries turning to groans as LeClair again began lavishing her clit with kisses and flicks of her tongue, while several other girls tickled and nipped gently upon her petite breasts.

  "I love feeling this resistance. She's very tight, ladies. Much tighter than I would have thought she would be. And strong. She's gonna snap my fingers off at the knuckles. Easy with your teeth on those titties. Be gentle with her. I don't want this one to get away from me anytime soon."

  Everyone laughed, and LeClair let out a satisfied sigh, when she said, “In to the hilt, girls."

  “To the hilt,” a whispered chorus repeated.

  LeClair's fingers began to thrust in and out of the immobilized girl, moving slowly as they were pulled all the way out and then pushed all the way back in again. LeClair's twisting and turning of her fingers provided her victim with delightful sensation to every nerve ending inside of her body. April's breath rattled as the prefect again settled a warm, hot mouth back over her clit and tugged it from its hiding spot as the big fingers within her continued to make love to her pussy.

  Molly watched in numb amazement as April's control quickly slipped away. The tiny girl raised her hips as the prefect's lips sealed themselves over her plump pubes and a warm, flat tongue surrounded the most sensitive bundle of nerves on her body. She arched her back to a distorted angle, encouraging deeper penetration of the prefect's fingers, and released a loud cry as she was brought to a shattering climax. Molly stared at April's face as the storm broke like a typhoon within her, leveling what little was left of April's self-esteem and taking all ability to reason with it. The girl's euphoric expression was free of agony, and Molly felt a bit of envy as she wished for the same, temporary reprieve.

  LeClair slowly withdrew her fingers from April's spent body and licked them clean. "From now on, you just lie back and enjoy what I'm going to do to you every single time I get a chance, little girl,” she whispered. "You are mine, Compton. Welcome to Strictland."