Molly sucked air into her aching lungs and croaked out a louder “Yes." The word was raspy and hoarse as it creaked out of her parched throat, a condition that was no doubt caused by the sheer volume and fervency of her screams.
“Yes, you repent? Yes, you submit willingly to your punishment?"
In the far recesses of her mind, Molly rejected his words entirely on the fact that she was an adult and thus possessed certain rights, but she ruthlessly squelched her rebellion in favor of the health and welfare of what was left of her ass cheeks. A third, and more solid “Yes" was heard.
The Headmaster sighed, tsking. "Here at Strictland, when you address a person of authority—whether it's a prefect or a teacher or myself—you will use the appropriate term of respect. 'Miss' for a prefect, 'Ma'am' for a teacher, and in my case, 'Sir'."
Molly foolishly chose to nod out of sheer exhaustion.
"It appears that this one is a slow learner. Very well. Add another five, please," the hawk-faced man said, as he shook his head. He directed a slight nod in Attendant Hazel's direction and initiated another series of vicious strokes to Molly's tormented posterior.
Screams of "Yes, Sir!! Yes, Sir! I submit. I'm begging you ...” erupted in sobbing waves as Molly desperately pleaded to stop the attack upon her person. She no longer cared about her foolish pride and embarrassment. Nothing else mattered except to escape from the pain of Attendant Hazel's merciless paddle and the acknowledgement that she was incapable of handling anything more—now or ever.
“That's better,” Headmaster Judas said with satisfaction, turning away from Molly's misery without a second glance. He shifted his thunderous gaze to the other two girls as he stretched himself to his full height. "I trust you two will benefit from the lesson you've been shown here?"
Without hesitation, each of them replied vehemently, “Yes, Sir."
"Do you have any questions? Petry? Out with it."
Molly lifted her swollen eyes to look up at him. "Are we students here, or inmates?"
"At Strictland, you are one and the same. You will be students of life's lessons under the jurisdiction of professional rehabilitators."
"Will we ever be allowed to leave?"
"One day... either with a suitable husband or to transfer to another facility. You know the penalty of breaking the law is a life sentence, regardless of the severity. You might as well get comfortable with the idea that this is your home now." A look of sadistic satisfaction registered around his face as Molly's own red face paled to a snowy white.
Headmaster Judas directed the removal of the bonds from the girls' ankles and commanded them to stand and follow Attendant Hazel. No concern was directed for Molly's physical state or that she experienced tremendous difficulty during the awkward struggle to rise to her feet without assistance. The ringing of a loud, shrill bell overpowered her weeping as they were led into a large hallway, their stockinged feet shuffling across the cold floor. Scores of young women poured out from doors from either side, each dressed in conservative thin, dingy white, long shifts, and raggedy black slippers. They robotically lined up behind an older girl dressed in a plain black gown, their thin, pale faces tensing as they waited for instruction. Instead of chattering and laughter from the crowd, Molly became acutely aware of the unnerving, and vastly disturbing, silence. She also felt the contemplative stares of every eye, trained on the three exposed newcomers marching past their ranks. She shivered, wondering if the competition for food and clothing was as lethal in this place as it was in the penitentiary.
The trio followed Attendant Hazel down another corridor and through a glass-paneled door labeled “Intake." There they were instructed to stand at attention in front of the desks belonging to several older, black-uniformed women.
“Name." The crisp demand was directed at April.
Molly watched as the terrified girl's mouth opened to respond, but no sound passed her lips. The woman behind the desk merely flicked her eyes to one side, and a matron appeared. With frightening efficiency, she grabbed a hold of April's still-bound wrists and tugged them down, forcing the tiny girl to bend at the waist. The woman stuck out a strong, thick leg, spilling April over it, and produced a small, split length of leather that she brought down in harsh repetition across the span of April's slender bottom. Molly stared in stunned amazement as the horrid strap continued to land searing stripes upon April's behind, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the tiny girl would become hysterical.
The thrashing continued without pause until the sobbing young woman finally choked out, “April Compton."
“How do you refer to your betters, girl?" her disciplinarian calmly questioned, while the well-worn leather continued to rise and fall relentlessly.
“Ma'am! Ma'am!” April screamed. "April Compton, Ma'am!”
Several more strokes bit into April's flesh before the matron said, “Watch your voice, girl. You must always use a tone of deference and respect to your superiors. Your sass smacks of a rebellious spirit. I'm going to keep a special eye on you."
Molly gulped as she watched April being forced to hunch over until her eyes were glued to a spot several inches from the tips of her sock-covered toes. There was no doubt in Molly's mind that the delicate, panic-stricken girl had just made herself a formidable enemy. Molly's head snapped to the left as a scream escaped from her other companion, now on the receiving end of yet another leather strap. What kind of nightmare is this? How could anyone act this way? I need to find a way out of here ... and soon. Molly trembled, her own pain still searing through her.
Distracted by the unwanted attention being forced upon her companions, Molly was deaf to the questions now directed at her. Within seconds, her howls joined theirs, causing the hanging bulbs to quiver as she faced a comeuppance delivered to a bottom already the color of a stop sign. Bruised and defeated, she was once more questioned for the usual personal information, each answer checked against the papers in the folder marked with her name and photograph. Great emphasis was placed on verifying that she was at least eighteen years of age and had voluntarily given her consent to attend the academy in lieu of incarceration at the woman's state penitentiary.
Before she hesitated and reneged upon her consent, several undated newspaper articles were laid before her, each relating some deplorable circumstance that had befallen a female prisoner at the penitentiary at the hands of other inmates. The matron calmly stated that for such young, attractive girls, jail was a death sentence, promising that if Molly chose that direction, she would meet a multitude of others who had foolishly refused the wondrous opportunities that Strictland had to offer. The matron added that the majority of the women sentenced to the prison committed severely violent behavior, including murder, and had nothing left to lose. They were labeled "incorrigible," and were known to aggressively attack and assault newcomers. The words droned on as the oldest woman recalled the recent, sad fate of the local rehab center, declaring that the state would be closing it down after another girl, incidentally a prior Strictland attendee, had been gang-raped by unsupervised inmates. Convinced by the scenes depicted in the articles, and terror-stricken by the report of the rehab facility, all three girls elected to remain.
You still have a choice, Molly thought. No, I don't. They made that choice for me. The war made the choice for me. Her eyes squeezed shut against the images before her. You can still fight. The question is how…
CHAPTER 2
Molly was escorted to the outside hallway and instructed to wait for her companions. She kept her eyes downcast to the dull linoleum floor and cringed as the sound of implements meeting flesh echoed from every direction. Lifting her eyes slightly to look into the room across the hall, Molly observed several young women who were either bent at the waist over the backs of conveniently placed straight-backed chairs or across the laps of various older, black-gowned women. Without fail, each girl had her dress thrown over her head and had clasped her hands in front of her with tightly-laced fingers as her bottom
was briskly warmed to a fiery crimson.
Molly felt her facial cheeks heat to a temperature that closely matched that of her nether region as she listened to the thoroughly embarrassing sounds the young women were making. More so, she was appalled about how exposed their private parts were to everyone who walked by. She faltered in her decision to stay, and then quickly recalled the gruesome tales of incarceration. She knew she was being both coerced and manipulated by these evil people, but her drive to survive took precedence. Her penchant for stubbornness prevailed, and Molly lifted her chin slightly, determined to avoid further whippings by proving herself to be the model inmate. Perfect behavior would buy her the time she needed to discover a means of freedom from this asylum.
Her red-faced, puffy-eyed companions were ushered from the intake room and stood to wait with Molly. After being treated to several punishment scenes occurring across the hall, they were led by Attendant Hazel to another door sporting a large placard reading “Dr. Krouse.” Goose flesh instantly covered Molly's bare skin as it was slapped with frosty air that clouded as she exhaled. Her nipples crinkled painfully in response to the icy chill. Her bound wrists made it impossible to try to warm herself, so Molly gritted her teeth and pulled her limbs as close to her body as she could, wincing at the sharp sting in her bottom muscles as they clenched tightly together.
Attendant Hazel placed bedpans on the floor in front of the girls, pointed, and snapped her fingers. "You know what to do. Urine specimens are needed to check you for drug use—and, God forbid, pregnancy. Hurry, now."
Molly grimaced helplessly as she tried to balance herself in a squatting position over the metal trays. It had been hours since she had last emptied her bladder, and it was bursting with need. The sound of fluid splashing on metal brought bought both humiliation and relief, but the relief was short-lived.
“I have three new intakes, Nurse Boynton. Here are their papers," Attendant Hazel announced crisply, as she shoved the three girls against the tiled wall. "They voided for you."
The deep, husky “Thank you, Attendant” lacked any compassion, caring or concern. In fact, it lacked any inflection at all, the monotone words casting a shadow of apathy. Molly shuddered as she felt her hope slip away. Despite the wisdom in maintaining her face in a downcast position, Molly snuck a peek at the person to whom Attendant Hazel was speaking. Like the other staff members, the nurse wore a severe black dress, black hosiery, and sensible shoes. Her vocation was announced by the black nurse's cap that perched sharply atop her head and surrounded the tight, brown hair bun. Molly shuddered again, seriously doubting that the testosterone-ridden, tall, large-girthed woman who resembled an ancient horror film prison warden, was capable of demonstrating a decent bedside manner.
Molly's suspicions were correct. After gloving herself and pouring the contents of the bedpans into marked containers, the nurse grabbed the dark-haired girl’s upper arm in a vise-like. She snapped her fingers at Molly and April: “You two! Go stand against the wall over there, and don't move a muscle, or I'll strap the hide from the both of you at once. If you know what's good for you, you'll watch what's going to happen to this one so you won't be surprised when it's your turn. By the way, feel free to try to fight me. I enjoy a little challenge."
Molly slowly lifted her head, feeling her jaw slowly drop as she stared at the scene before her eyes. The girl, Patricia, was dragged like a little rag doll to the bare, stainless steel examination table and forced to lie with her back pressed against the shiny surface. The gasp that accompanied the sudden stiffening of Patricia's naked body confirmed everyone's suspicions that the hard metal was as bone-chillingly cold as the floor and likely torturous upon the girl's very red, and very sore, bottom.
Patricia struggled as her bound wrists were lifted high over her head and replaced with heavy leather restraints secured to a chain behind the table. The nurse pulled the chain back, and slowly lowered both ends of the table to form the shape of an A-frame. With the center of the table pointing towards the ceiling, Patricia's shoulders were thrust back into a painful arch, causing her breasts to jut high in the air. She was skillfully trapped as she pressed her unbound feet to the table to relieve the cramping to her mid back. This small relief was short-lived, as shiny metal stirrups with narrow thigh supports were pulled out from under the table.
With a chuckle, the nurse easily locked each slim, delicate ankle, and the corresponding thigh, in place with buckling restraints. The clicking of metal announced the slow spreading of Patricia's ankles and thighs as her splayed legs were lifted up into the air to shamefully stretch and expose her entire bottom-half for viewing. The nurse adjusted the tabletop once again to support the small of Patricia's back and proceeded to wrap a broad leather belt around the girl’s slender waist. The nurse brushed off her hands, obviously pleased with her work, and called for the physician from her intercom: "The first one is ready, Dr. Krouse."
An old, unkempt, balding man with a distended belly and a short stocky legs waddled into the room with a defined limp. His oily, flushed face framed small dark eyes that were set too close together and canopied by a thick unibrow, and a partial set of yellowed teeth that had not seen a toothbrush in decades. His hands were abnormally large, particularly in comparison to Patricia's delicacy. He sat down on a rolling stool that he moved to position his eyes dead center before her stretched-open, private region. On his signal, the table was raised, giving him a panoramic view, and subsequent access, to the trembling pink flesh.
The physician donned a pair of rubber gloves with a snap before perusing the tray of instruments set before him. He selected several items with his thick, sausage-like fingers and then turned his head briefly to eye the two girls hunched against the wall. Offering them a sardonic smile, he lifted a large speculum in the air and pretended to study it, assuring his audience had clear sight of the menacing instrument.
“Franklin, is it?" he said to Patricia after briefly glancing at her file, "You and I will be getting to know one another intimately in a few minutes, so you might as well just relax and enjoy yourself. As for you two," he glanced back at Molly and April, "I will clarify that this is a situation where you are not to be looking away from the proceedings. I wish each of you to carefully observe this examination and prepare yourselves for your turn. Nurse Boynton, would you please conduct a thorough breast exam on the girl while I ready things down here?"
"Are you certain you do not wish to wait for your new resident to assist you, Doctor?" the nurse asked, while snapping on her gloves.
"Dr. Wells is, ahem, having difficulty in restraining himself from imposing his opinion regarding the psychological effects the inmates' experience during their rehabilitation. He also continues to view the inmates as individuals with rights. I sent him to talk with one of the prefects as a distraction to prevent him from joining us today."
"Compassion is an unacceptable trait in this environment," the nurse agreed. “I still do not understand why he was not called to fight in the war. He was of age at that time.”
“For some reason, the State considered him to be more valuable alive. Some of us were not so lucky,” the old man said bitterly.
“Uh, yes,” the nurse cleared her throat, glancing at his crotch. “I heard that you suffered a great loss in the battlefield.” She quickly returned to the subject at hand. “As for Dr. Wells, if he cannot set aside his tender little heart, then he needs to leave. I have also heard rumors that he has attempted to interfere with the discipline."
"Headmaster Judas believes there is hope for the young man and wishes to raise him up in administration. It is my opinion that his primary reason for being here is to attract wealthier investors to donate resources to this organization. I do question the wisdom in allowing him to remain on site. I do not believe him to have the stomach for it."
"Or the balls,” the nurse muttered. She reddened at the wicked look shot in her direction. “I, uh, what if he attempts to spread lies about us as retribution should he be remove
d?"
"Remember that our methods are sanctioned by the State. We just exercise artistic license in how they are, well, managed. Regardless, should he make waves, I assure you that his reputation will be destroyed prior to leaving. Don't forget, we have the judge in our pocket, a very powerful and wealthy Board of Directors, and several loyal inmates who would be happy to testify that he forced himself on them. That charge alone would send him to execution, man or no man. He would have to leave the country if he ever attempted to harm us, and we both know he would never make it out alive. Never mind him. Please proceed with the examination," the physician ordered.
"My pleasure, Doctor."
Patricia briefly renewed her struggles, as the top half of the table was adjusted and contorted the girl's back into a greater arch. Patricia squealed loudly as the base of her shapely breast was firmly grasped by hard, rough hands and thick, muscular fingers began pressing carelessly towards her rigid nipple.
A piercing scream permeated the room, causing the doctor to wince. "Silence her! Franklin, this unacceptable behavior has just earned you a disciplinary session. If you are so inclined to scream, you will be given a good reason to do so. Hazel!"
As the nurse placed a large roll of bandage material into Patricia's open mouth, and secured it with a wide strip of medical tape, Attendant Hazel darkened the door way. The sight of her broad shoulders and imposing stature caused Molly to shiver uncontrollably—and for Patricia to lapse into a deathly silence. Molly looked fearfully over at Patricia's ghostly white face, and then pressed firmly against the wall in an attempt to make herself invisible from the matron's view. Attendant Hazel paused before her cowering figure and glanced down with a scowl that caused the bile to rise in Molly's throat. The frowning woman shook her head and swung a long, ruler shaped paddle from her wrist in long, languid arcs as she approached the table. She then silently gestured for the physician to move aside.
Strictland Academy Page 2