Endurance Academy for Wayward Girls

This is a serialized work of fiction with all characters over 18. In this chapter Abby Collins, new innocent inductee of the academy faces a rude awakening and meets her classmates as life at the academy gets underway.

CHAPTER FIVE

"Go on, Collins, it's time"

Miss Morgan put her gloved hand on my back and gently pushed me forward into the room. Through the steam rising from the open showers against the far wall, I could see other girls, soaped and wet and showering. The steam rose to the high ceiling and hung in the shaft of sunlight falling through the high, barred window. Some of the girls talked in low voices, hushed as they washed and filed out, each taking a gray robe from the single line of hooks on the far wall.

"Strip her, Jeffries." Miss Morgan said, and a larger, red-haired girl stepped forward to grab my wrist. She yanked me forward toward a single open stall in the corner of the room, separate to the communal area where the old iron shower heads sprayed onto the last of the girls.

"Arms out," the girl, Jeffrries, said without a hint of friendliness or ceremony. She worked quickly with her rough hands, lifting my pinafore dress first. Then the tight white blouse. The corset, zippered up the side and now mercifully released. I was left standing, trying to cover my breasts, in my "correction panties" as Miss Morgan had called them the other day. "Brace," Jeffries commanded. I didn't know what that meant but she suddenly yanked the panties and their inserts down and out of me. I gasped. "Hands on the wall." I glanced around and saw her inspecting them up close.

"You dirty little, bitch," she snapped. "You're wet. Look at these things. You're not supposed to like it! Is she Miss Morgan?" Jeffires whirled around looking for a confirmation from Miss Morgan, now striding toward both of us with a stern, disapproving look on her face. Morgan snatched the panties from Jeffries and took one quick, conclusive look.

"Get her cleaned up, properly, Jeffries. You know what you're doing."

Jeffries grunted and turned to me. She yanked a long, brass chain to my side and in an instant freezing, ice cold water rained down on me.

"Hands stay on the wall, legs spread now."

Shuddering and gasping from the ice water already, I could barely think or respond. I was just about to say something, to try and reach for the chain, when she kicked my legs astride and reached for something hanging in front of me, by a single brass hook. "Wha.. is that?" I tried to shake the water from my hair, matting into my eyes. But Jeffries didn't explain. She grabbed the long wooden handled scrubbing brush and in one single movement, dragged its course bristled head between my thighs. I flinched at the first touch, and then it got worse. As she scrubbed rapidly, relentlessly back and forth, the pain, searing, became unbearable. My legs trembled and shook uncontrollably.

"She's clean, Miss Morgan," Jeffries snapped after what, how long?

"A little more, Jeffries. Soap her mouth too. She was crying way too much last night."

Jeffries chuckled, her whole big frame heaving into an ugly laugh. "She'll learn Miss Morgan, right? Everyone does." With that she opened my mouth with her other hand and inserted a block of soap. "Hold that until I'm done." The taste was instantly sickening, bringing tears to my eyes. I gagged. "Really?!" she snapped angrily. Then the scrubbing resumed harder and harsher, back and forth, back and forth, long slow strokes, quick circular ones. "It's not like when you touch yourself in your shower is it?" Jeffries whispered, her foul breath now on me as she leaned forward to whisper in my ear, not even caring or noticing the shower now running all over both of us. "Although you probably don't even do that do you? Type three? Stuck up little prude, right? You'll learn newbie." She snapped the brush head against my pussy one hard last time, and stepped back.

"She's done, Miss Morgan." Jeffries removed the soap from my mouth, now foaming. I gasped and retched a little. "Stop that!"

"I worry Collins is going to take quite some time," Miss Morgan muttered turning to leave. Then she tapped her cane on the ceramic wall, and the shower stopped. "Get her ready for her first class...."

......

Once dressed, I was led down the cold stone hallway to a wing where I now knew most of the classrooms stood side by side. I walked slowly, thighs burning beneath my dress. Tall oak doors running nine feet floor to ceiling, lined the hallway on either side, each with a small observation window and a brass plate hanging below. As we walked I looked at them. Sewing. Simple Math. Elocution. The we stopped and my nameless guide opened the door to usher me inside.

"Ah, Miss Collins," the voice said, appearing from behind the door. "Welcome to Girls Etiquette. Have a seat and we will get you started." I stepped inside. A musty old room, tall ceilinged, with a long chalk board that stretched across the entire front of the room and a single desk for the professor. On the board, beautifully handwritten a class title. "Girls and Boys: Simple Rules to Follow as a Young Lady." In front of me, six rows of small wooden desks, each occupied by a single girl, sitting straight and attentively looking to the professor for her next instruction. I took a seat in the back and opened a book in front of me.

"Girls, welcome, Miss Collins," the professor said brightly, gesturing to me with his open hands. "She's new to the academy and still finding her feet. If you can help her in any way, please do so. You've all been here some time, you know how things work."

I looked around as he spoke. A dozen girls all dressed in the same grey pinafore dresses I now wore. But while I lay with my wet hair and head on my hands, propped on the book in front of me, they all sat upright, hair pulled back in ribboned ponytails high on their nodding heads as they listened alertly to the professor read from the text book. He paced back and forth at the front of the class as I strained to keep my eyes open to watch.

"The rules used to be simple for girls and boys, men and women," he began. "Girls stayed home and ran the house, cared for the family. They cooked their husbands dinner, greeted them after a long day at work, and if they were good, dutiful, little wives they'd take their husbands in their arms and do whatever they needed to to make him feel good in the bedroom." He paused, looked up over his glasses at the faces listening. "Now, girls, that doesn't sound so bad, does it? No boring, stressful, tiring jobs. No rushing around trying to do everything and failing at most of it?"

I must have gasped, or yawned or something. As they all turned almost in unison to look, no stare at me. "Miss Collins, do you have something to add?" the professor said, now focusing every eye on me in the room. "Do you find this boring? And sit up girl, there's no slouching in my class or anywhere in the academy." Reflexively, I straightened up, tucked my hair behind my ear.

"it's not the 1950s," I suddenly heard myself saying. "That's all bullshit."

He marched swiftly to my seat and towering over me, curtly, snippily said, "I am well aware it's not. But do you suggest what we have now is better in any way? Girls trying to do everything? Look pretty for their boyfriends and husbands, run a good, clean house, bear and raise children and work too? It's impossible. It's insane, Collins."

He was about to say something else, but a knock on the door interrupted. A girl popped her head around the corner of the door. "Sorry professor, but I have a note for you from ... upstairs."

The professor strode to her, took it, unfolded the crisp note from inside the envelope and nodded. Then turning to me said, "Miss Collins, Mr. Raker is asking for you upstairs. He apologizes for interrupting our class, but said he will be out for the rest of this week and needs to spend some time with you to finish his part of your intake report."

I sat frozen. Raker. I shuddered remembering his hands on me. The feel of his heavy sweaty belly hanging over me as he forced himself on me, pinning me. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't, wouldn't go willingly to his room. Ever.

"Don't worry, Miss Collins, he's been reprimanded and is to follow strict conduct guidelines during any interaction with you going forward. You have my assurance." With that he nodded to the messenger girl and I rose to follow her out of the room. Down the hallway, the door closing finally, heavily behind me.

"I know," she began when we were safely down the hall and around a corner. "I heard. We all did. I'm sure you will be fine" she said hurridly as we began to climb the wide slate steps that curled away to the upper, unseen floors of the academy.

"Why does he need to see me? I can't go in there."

"But you must."

Right then something snapped. I turned and seeing my opportunity ran. Hurtling down the hallway, turning a corner, and another, no clue where I was headed. Door after door passed all looking identical. My heart pumped in my chest, breath ragged as I ran faster and faster, difficult in the tight dress and heels. At the end of the hallway I found a large arched door, flung it open and hurtled down the staircase, right into someone. The collision knocked the wind out of me, and me to my feet. I fell, tumbling down the last few stairs and dazed, struggled to get to my feet.

Then a hand outstretched and as I stood and the two of us coming face to face. The young man from the other day. The one who tried to tell me something as I lay pinned to the bench during that awful intake session.

"Miss Collins, I was coming to find you. We must be quick. Come with me."