(In the first part of this story, Claire, a new pupil at an infamous training school for unmarried young women, is caught by her custodian for wetting herself during her spanking - every girl is spanked regularly at midnight, to ensure proper discipline and a firm, 'exercised' behind. The custodian, an old perv with strange fetishes, forces Claire to pee and relieve herself in front of him, which she complies not without difficulty, in exchange for safeguard; but in the end, he betrays the girl and reports her 'transgression' to the 'school management.' As her punishment, Claire ends up blindfolded and gagged in the men's bathroom and is left there for a whole day and night.)
1.
Still not yet. I waited - wait - am waiting. But it can't be for long now. I've no means to check, but in my mind something ghostly ticks away, restless, galloping on the plain of midnight. In this canned windowless cellar of ours I lie waiting. Listen - it echoes that of mine, following behind timidly, too faint to catch almost, a second heartbeat trailing and breathing a pale flame within my domed belly, under my fragile snow-white skin. My nightdress is thin as gray gossamer yet I sweat still, little pearls running down tip of nose, my chest, my thighs, my body vaporizing in a sandglass.
Midnight. Will you come. Let it be over with. I suffer and suffer through. Eight months since the incident. I recall sometimes dreaming of that never-ending day and feverish night, so still present, teleporting me back on that slippery floor of black-and-white checkers, feet of strangers around me keep treading, treading - all sounds but I cannot hear, all fury I but cannot see, pain blinds me, the rage so raw it burns, then the thrill as they drive a hole through my pride, with their nodding arms, how many, how many, I've lost count, I'll never know the father, I'll never see the sun, so spit in my mouth, for I am a bit wordless, now...
2.
Now I feel cooler. I've found peace again, or rather peace has found me after abandoning others. Above me, Juliette is turning about and making the steel bed frame groan under her weight. Across the room lies Marie-Denise, oh poor Marie, that muffled noise, must be weeping. Is she missing her little brother again? Yesterday she showed us a photo she had of him. How he looks like you, I remember saying that, what a stupid thing to say, of course they should look alike.
I reach out from my bed, my hand searching in the air, Marie, I whisper, Marie-Denise. Our room is small; sometimes in the dark I feel the walls closing in on us. The sobbing stops. She heard me. I feel her hand, icy cold, and receive it into mine. We cross our fingers and let our palms attach. Such little things keep us going. Above Marie is one called Elise, whom I don't know too well, for she always keeps to herself and draws signs on the wall with her fingernails.
Every week we are shuffled up and put into different rooms. This is the last day I will share with these three girls. Till we meet again. Each time it feels a little different, as if people change when being with different groups. Juliette has grown rather belligerent since the last time I lived with her. We seldom talk now. Elise seems more withdrawn each time I am in the same room with her. What do I make of that, perhaps I shouldn't have to.
Still not midnight yet, as if time has kindly stopped by and dropped the curtain for my thoughts. But what is to come will be here. What I'd like now is to speak of things that are left, say my prayers, finish waiting. Our custodian, that grumpy old fetishist, is always on time according to his own schedule: always midnight - always midnight - a room is chosen - and the girls spanked inside.
The devil works in a mysterious way. Each night he is supposed to choose a different room, and seven rooms to choose from. We tried to learn the pattern, for there must be one. Nothing is random here. We deployed arithmetic, psychology, then intuition, and finally superstition and magic. But all ended in failure. The pattern remains elusive: there is a rule but we fail to see it yet. Perhaps one night it might come to us, the solution to everything we have been through, and together we will say in our hushed voices, eureka, eureka.
Once he told us something. He said that we are so young and shouldn't sleep away the lives we have got. Women, he said, are nocturnal animals, cats of nine tails. Our desire and vigor are at the strongest around the zeroth hour, thus the best time to train us. He only spanks us on our backsides; the other parts are too delicate for any kind of brute force, even those of a feeble old man, so he is forbidden to beat us anywhere else. It is a known fact that out of the entire academy his girls have the roundest behinds. This, then, is his secret ingredient, though he enjoys spicing his stew perhaps a little too much.
Now I hear his keychains clinking, that rattler of keys, his heavy boots thundering dull in the hallway. Which room will it be this time? Pray let it not be us. I hold my breath and wait. But no. Something is different this time. Something sinister coming our way, I fear. Oh I fear for ourselves. Listen, friends, listen: that boney reaper is unlocking everyone's door. Sisters, rise your drowsy curtain now, and lend each other a hand, for the devil is here and must not be kept waiting.
3.
From idle dreams the dreamers come, you Nymphs in virgin wood seldom found; the wondrous sight of your pleasures toy, fills me with fantasy of night and lustful ploy!
Green with chaste, by Graces sung, red with blushes and by Flora crowned;
whiter than snow, prettier than a song, but now all-a-whore and to vile service bound!
