Strictland Academy (3 page)

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
…

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.