Bishop's Tannery Academy
Bdsm Story

Bishop's Tannery Academy

by Darnessthought 16 min read 4.7 (8,300 views)
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I am never good with categories, or for that matter, specific tags; it all just seems to wander off in different directions. Everything contained within these pages is works of complete fiction. The characters in this story are themselves entirely fictional. They do not exist, never have, and never will, and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, whether by name or by description, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

The author does not condone behaviour like those exhibited within these pages other than in a world of pure fiction. When the term girl is used, it is a derogatory label, and everyone in this work of fiction is over eighteen.

This particular tale takes place in an alternate future, a future where society, tired of the disintegration of law and order, particularly amongst young adults, has introduced draconian laws that resulted in the reintroduction of reformatories.

However, all that said, this is just a story dragged up from the wild and violent tides of overthinking, which have taken a heavy toll; these thoughts dim the light and usher in the black dog that asks, 'What if?'

Bishop's Tannery Academy

It wasn't so much the sound that made Sophie Bradbury tremble and then cry; it was what it meant that was so frightening. The slam of the holding cell door was spine-chilling, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

She thought hard; what was it that fat, red-faced Judge said, "Reformatory, a delinquent! Her freedoms and liberties removed - stripped away.

To become a number.

To be taught that she cannot be trusted as she was a danger to Society."

She had never heard such rubbish. And what the hell is a Reformatory? That useless lawyer said it would probably just be a fine. It was only a bit of shoplifting, only one little spliff, and so what? Maybe she shouldn't have slapped that Police Officer, but the bitch deserved it.

She would show them, she would never give in, she would fight them all. She would keep her independence.

They can't break her.

The cell door opened, and two grey-suited, hard-faced women marched in.

Each holding what looked like a small black wand, their faces grim and determined. "Delinquent will remove the remand centre uniform." One of them ordered.

She crossed her arms, glaring at the two women defiantly.

"Have it your way." One of the grey suits said as the other one raised her wand.

Intense pain enveloped her, starting on her thigh where the wand touched, then exploding throughout her body. She couldn't scream as her jaw locked, her body collapsed on the cold steel floor, her legs and arms twitching uncontrollably.

With ruthless efficiency, the two grey women stripped the bright yellow tracksuit off of the prone girl and then worked quickly to remove her underwear.

By the time she was naked, the twitching in her limbs had subsided, and the feeling had returned. She felt her arms roughly pulled behind her, then something tight binding them together, just above her elbows.

She was naked and helpless, her mind numb in disbelief as she felt something hard and foul-tasting pushed into her mouth, then secured behind her head.

"Delinquent will stand." She heard the command but couldn't react quickly enough before two hands gripped handfuls of hair and pulled up.

She scrabbled to find her feet, her legs wobbly and unsteady.

A black hessian bag was roughly pulled over her head, cutting off the light, and then a thick leather collar was tightened securely against her neck.

"Delinquent will keep up, no stopping or pausing; if you fall over, we will simply drag you." She heard one of the suits say.

With no time to collect her thoughts, she felt the collar around her neck tug and took the first hesitant step towards her new reality.

She could hear every conversation pause as she stumbled past people, naked, blind and helpless, down a seemingly never-ending corridor.

~~oOo~~

The journey had been endless; still naked and bound, she was made to stand upright in what felt like a tiny steel box; she didn't even have the room to fall as the vehicle turned and bumped along.

Eventually, the journey ended, but the nightmare intensified as she was dragged out of the van and dumped unceremoniously on a cold tiled floor.

Time seemed to stand still; her mind had shut down, and she was overwhelmed with everything that was happening. Was it minutes or hours? She didn't know, but she heard two sets of footsteps approaching. Suddenly, she began to panic. Her hood was removed, and she was blinded by brilliant white light.

She was dragged up, then hauled up onto a table, her head falling backwards, her arms and legs stretched painfully and tied down. Her head hung backwards, and she had this strange upside view of two severe but young-looking women dressed in a grey two-piece suit and white blouse.

One of the women had a large pair of scissors and was approaching her head. She said, "I suggest you do not attempt to fight us or even move. If you do, there is a real danger of you being accidentally cut, which will probably scar you for life."

She closed her eyes and felt a hand grip a fistful of her long blonde hair. The first snip dug through the strands, and she could not help the whimper that escaped her mouth. Then tears began to fall.

The next cut made its way across her hair. Nine more cuts, she counted as she hung helplessly, her precious hair discarded on the floor.

In complete silence, the woman worked. She placed the scissors on a trolley and picked up an electric razor. She switched it on, and it began to buzz, pressing it against the base of her skull and pulling it up along her head, an intense look of concentration in the woman's eyes. She worked quickly, each buzz across her scalp sending further quiet tears down her cheeks.

When it was over, the woman ran her hand over Ophelia's bald head, checking for any strays. Her head felt like fine sandpaper.

"Excellent, now it's time to purge." one of the women announced.

With ruthless efficiency, her restraints were removed, and she was flipped over and once more tied down, spread eagle on the steel table.

She heard the distinctive snap of a surgical rubber glove, and she immediately felt her buttocks spread. One of the women probed at her sphincter until she broke through, sliding her finger deep inside her anus. The woman's finger was slim and had used plenty of lubricants, so she slipped in quickly.

After a while, the woman finished probing and removed her finger, but a few moments later, she felt something else pressing against her sphincter, and, this time, it wasn't a finger. It was something hard, somewhat thicker than the finger had been. Then there was a pumping sound, and whatever was in her bottom started to expand further, growing wider inside her.

When the woman stopped, she was close to the limit of what she could stand. She tugged at whatever was in her anus, confirming it would not come out. Then, there was a certain amount of pulling and sloshing noises behind her back.

As she felt a warm liquid from an unseen source flow into her bowels, she knew what it was. She had never had one before, but her friends had described an enema. She felt herself filling up and cramping. She was close to crying out, begging for mercy, when she heard the sound of two sets of footsteps retreating and the door being opened and closed.

She realised she was now alone.

She tried flexing the muscles of her buttocks, struggling to find a comfortable position; however much she moved, there wasn't one. She struggled against the cuffs that held her but to no avail. She wasn't going to escape, and she wasn't going to find any comfort.

There was no sense of time, just discomfort, and she couldn't help but feel relief when she heard two sets of footsteps enter the room.

However, her relief was short-lived when she saw the two women dressed in what looked like waterproof hazard suits, dark goggles, face masks and thick latex gloves.

They worked to release her from the table, first her ankles, then her wrists and without a care for her comfort, they dragged her to a smaller room, which had an open shower. She had lost control of her limbs, and she collapsed onto the tiled floor.

One of them reached behind her, doing something that released the tube inserted into her anus. As soon as the plug was removed, she could not hold back any longer, and, with an immense sense of release, she voided her bowels.

She was overwhelmed with the horror and absolute shame she felt. Never had she been so humiliated, left flopping around on the floor, covered in her own stinking waste.

Two powerful jets of water hit her, cutting off any further self-pity. The two women worked methodically, washing away the results of the enema. She was repeatedly soaked with different antiseptic-smelling liquids and rinsed until completely clean. Next came some more shower gel with rough sponges, both women scrubbing her body, starting with her face and working down until every inch and every nook and cranny was thoroughly clean.

The water was turned off, leaving her standing wet and naked, the whole process conducted in an eerie silence. Finally, the two women towelled her down from head to toe using soft white towels.

With her clean and dry, they removed their protective clothing. She never thought to move; she stood quietly, patiently awaiting whatever was next.

The two women took each arm and gently led her back into the main room. Then, one of them picked up a wide leather belt. The belt was leather and wide enough to stretch from the top of the hips to the bottom of the ribs. Pulling the three fastenings tight constricted her waist, and then her wrists were pulled behind her and fitted into leather cuffs.

~~oOo~~

The imposing figure of Principle Ben Richards watched from the window of his first-floor office as a sleek black limousine travelled leisurely down the half-mile drive from the main road.

He had not purposely been looking out for his 10 o'clock appointment. It was just that, being such a beautiful morning, he could not resist taking a moment to admire the wealth of brilliant colours generated by the low sun shining through the autumnal leaves gracing the branches of the trees.

Autumn had taken an early hold on the grounds of his private domain, Bishop's Tannery Academy. The bracing chill in the air suggested the long, hard winter predicted by the weather forecasters would be a reality.

He checked his watch: 09:35, more than enough time to finish his task before someone called to announce the arrival of the recently widowed Mrs Carter-Smythe.

Her husband, Henry Carter-Smythe, had been one of the select twelve, the small but essential group, who had been very generous benefactors from the very start of the academy programme. He hoped Carter-Smythe's widow would be persuadable in being equally supportive.

He turned, surveying the naked buttocks at the top of the long, nylon-clad, athletic legs of the third-year delinquent. She was holding the required position, bent at the waist, hand grasping the edge of the desk tightly, her feet a minimum of one yard apart, her breathing was laboured, her face bright red, as she held on grimly.

Both of her delightfully round, tight bottom cheeks were a livid crimson. Principal Richards had used the supple leather strap now laid ceremoniously across the tops of her cheeks very efficiently to induce a gloriously sore state. He could smell her aroused state; the unmistakable female musk hung in the air.

He sighed, running a hand over the red-hot cheeks; he felt her involuntarily shudder. "It would seem that for you, delinquent 24993, Brown, a correction has simply become an occupational hazard that you endure almost effortlessly and find enjoyable. Thereby having almost no corrective effect," he said before giving a heavy, open-handed slap to each bottom cheek.

There was a muffled groan before he continued, "Therefore, I shall discuss some remedial action with Matron. I am sure we will agree on redressing your obvious stubbornness in the areas that are so much cause for concern."

With that, he lifted the strap off the girl's buttocks and taking this as her cue, she rose gracefully, giving a slight curtsey, "Thank you for correcting me, Master," she said as she swiftly smoothed down her short skirt.

She exited his office without raising her eyes. Even with her display of deference, Ben was still sure that she was somehow mocking him, taunting him almost to the point where a distinct step up was necessary.

As the door closed softly, he had decided on a final, irrevocable course of action. Going over to his desk, he picked up the telephone to call his beloved wife, the Academy Matron, whose dedication to the concepts and methods of the Academy is as strong as his own.

His call was picked up immediately, "Sachiko, my love, I think it is time for delinquent 24993, Brown, to move to the Auditorium. She is not responding particularly well to whatever method is employed, and we have also had a request from the Secretary-General for a new Aide."

He smiled at his wife's response before replacing the receiver.

~~oOo~~

Cynthia Carter-Smythe was impressed. Principal Ben Richards was imposing, and his height and confidence made her feel unusually girlish. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from giggling, and she silently scolded herself for this.

At 37, she was used to dealing with powerful and influential men. They all had similar traits, and she had lived a life in their company, yet she already realised Ben Richards was different.

He was exceptionally handsome, younger than she expected, probably in his mid-thirties. His smile was disarming and warm, but his eyes spoke of absolute authority, something she understood all too well.

When she started reviewing her late husband's private finances, she was surprised at how much money he had donated over the years to the Academy. Yet, there was little information in his paperwork. She then researched the Academy online, but very little information was available.

The only things she could find were superficial references to the government's project and corresponding notices on reporting restrictions, which now intrigued her and frustrated her to the point where she decided to visit the establishment and find out for herself.

What surprised her most was the level of security; even her chauffeur had to undergo the most detailed background checks and sign intricate non-disclosure agreements.

Three different official bodies have also issued several dire warnings about the existing national security measures.

The obstacles only served to pique her interest, and she could not resist pressing ahead with a visit.

Upon arrival, the high walls, securely locked gates, and imposing armed guards also spoke of the Academy's extremely high security.

All of these contrasted starkly with the openness of the expansive grounds and the elegance of the buildings once they were through the entrance tunnel.

As the car went down the drive, she noticed a group of girls dressed in black shorts and tight white singlets with black plimsolls doing what looked like star jumps, swats and stretching exercises, with a grey tracksuit figure overseeing them.

Further, she saw a sizeable, well-tended vegetable garden, with girls dressed in dungarees tending the garden.

She had not even arrived at the academy's front door, and already she was impressed. There was a distinct feel of organised, disciplined calm. The whole place felt like an expensive rehabilitation retreat rather than a Government-funded establishment.

~~oOo~~

Mrs Carter-Smythe took the proffered seat on a comfortable leather sofa in the large bay window.

Even before she was comfortable, she was determined to set the ground rules, "I will not beat around the bush, Principle Richards. I believe in plain speaking, so perhaps you can tell me why my late husband, Henry, donated so much money to your organisation and why, as I have now discovered he spent time here every month.

I must say, I have done some research on your establishment, and I am certainly not hostile to the published aims, but I cannot find any reference to his involvement in his papers, and I need to know why you were worth so much to him."

Principle Ben Richards cleared his throat, ready to deliver his prepared speech, one he had made on many occasions. He was very comfortable and confident with his favourite subject matter.

"Of course, Mrs Carter-Smythe, and thank you for your honesty. I am pleased to inform you that your late husband understood and supported the long-established principles we adhere to here at Bishop's Tannery Academy for young women.

Forgive me if you already know a great deal of what I am about to say. I believe it is essential to give you the whole picture.

Our core belief is that every young woman has a promising future regardless of their past.

Our young women's true potential lies beyond what they believe or know about themselves.

Our primary task is to remove them from who they are now and help them realise their full potential.

The Legal Definition of a reformatory is a penal institution to which young and first-time offenders are committed for education and reform. The Reformatory Academy Act provides for separating these young offenders by gender from adult prisoners.

The young offenders sent to these institutions learn life skills and receive a complete education to improve their chances of rehabilitation.

The Act also provides that delinquents will be subject to strict discipline and attitude adjustment as a measure towards total rehabilitation.

We believe in our principles because they work; frankly, there are no more chances and no leniency left to the young people within the judicial system.

Most will have gone before the courts for various criminal behaviour and were remanded here by a Judge instead of a significant adult prison term.

Also, it's not unusual for a parent or guardian to admit their child into our care precisely to avoid the embarrassment of a court appearance and the subsequent adverse publicity."

The Principal paused, noticing Mrs Carter-Smythe's slight incline of her head and a raised hand in question. "Do you mean to tell me some parents willingly sign over their daughters as delinquents?" she asked.

"Why yes, Mrs Carter-Smythe, we currently have two delinquents signed in by their parents. I believe the parents had reached the end of a very long rope with their child, and it was either us or disownment. They see us as their last chance to save their daughter's future.

I am sure you know that society pressured the government to change the laws twenty years ago. These significant changes gave parents far more control over children and young adults until age 25. In some cases, up to thirty, if demonstrating a lack of capacity, and the level of proof needed is very flimsy."

"I find that fascinating, and I wish you would call me Cynthia; it does save so much time." Mrs Carter-Smythe said.

Inclining his head in acknowledgement, Ben Richards said, "Thank you, Cynthia. That is far more comfortable and appreciated, so please call me Ben.

In straightforward terms, we strip delinquent females of everything, and I mean absolutely everything, even their given name, during the first twelve months.

We remove them from their past and all previous friends and influences. They have to start from scratch; whatever happened in the past is irrelevant. It is only the future they choose for themselves that is important.

With the latest laser technology, we remove all their outward defences and tricks and any outward signs of personality, personal adornments, makeup, jewellery, tattoos, and body hair. We strip them of their possessions and belongings so that they have nothing. They need nothing; all of their physical and emotional needs we provide

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