Thirty-Two.
There were thirty-two women in the room. Alana knew this because she'd counted. Once, twice, three times. Trying to soothe her anxiety while they waited. Thirty-two desperate women all between the ages of nineteen and twenty-one, eager for the chance to prove themselves worthy of The Scholarship.
The Scholarship. Capital letters even in her thoughts. A million dollar prize that awaited any and all of them that completed the two-year program. Most of the women in the room wouldn't survive the two years. Would drop out or be forced to leave for failure of one kind or another. To Alana's knowledge, the program was about to start its eleventh run. Twenty years, ten different trials- only eleven winners.
A grim reminder of what was in store. Every woman in the room had signed a contract stating that no matter when they exited the program they wouldn't speak to what they'd experienced. Those who disobeyed earned themselves a slot as a permanent worker in the program. Something that allowed Mistress J to control even the rumors of what was to come.
"Do you think they'll strip us before assigning our roles?"
Alana focused on the girl next to her, a pretty Latina with dark curly hair and a tongue ring that glinted when she talked. "Our roles?"
"I heard that we're separated into rotating classes, you know, training us in smaller groups?" Tongue ring plucked at the t-shirt she was wearing. "Mama told me to not bother dressing up, that they'd probably want to remind us of our place pretty early on."
In a way, that made sense. No one was allowed to bad mouth the program, but that didn't mean that there was complete silence on the matter. Mistress J described the program as a place where young women learned to debase themselves. An opportunity to go to the lowest place possible, so that the ascension to greatness would taste all the sweeter.
Of course, if the other girl was right, Alana'd wasted her time that morning getting ready. Most days she didn't bother with makeup, dressed for comfort rather than fashion. So she'd enlisted the help of her closest friend, Mary, to pick something out that would impress her soon-to-be teachers.
A tight black skirt and white blouse combo that toed the line between office assistant and office slut. Alana had just been grateful when Mary allowed her to put a tank top on first, helping reduce some of the cleavage. The flats had been her last bit of comfort. A concession considering she couldn't try to be sexy if she was constantly falling over.
Nothing to be done about it, though, they were wearing what they were wearing. "Your mom is okay with you being here?
Alana's hadn't. Had called her a whore. A Harlot. Disgusting for even considering it.
Secretly, most of the things her mother brought up as reasons not to go through with it were exactly why she wanted to do it. The money was fantastic, but she wasn't exactly planning on suffering completely for it. Didn't mind the idea of servicing pretty women and men. Found the idea of being punished for misbehavior enticing. The week before applications were due she'd spent an entire evening with clothespins on her nipples.
Even taken a wooden spoon to her thighs, trying to imagine what it would be like.
Before Tongue Ring could answer her, five women emerged from the back room to take the stage in front of them.
The first was a rather large white woman whose thighs jiggled when she took her seat. Apparently unashamed of her size, she wore a tight black dress that barely covered her ass. A beautiful blue pendant rested in her ample cleavage. Beside her, Alana could hear Tongue Ring's grunt of disgust, but Alana couldn't sympathize. While not conventionally attractive, Alana found herself rather fond of the idea of burying her face between those breasts or thighs. In being smothered, unable to breathe for another woman's pleasure.
Second came an already tall woman wearing what had to be six-inch heels, hips swaying with every step. White fishnets came up to mid thigh, leaving a small patch of dark skin between that and her red skirt. A white corset cinched her middle, but her breasts were bare except for red taped crosses on each nipple. The woman's shaved head was topped with a little nurse's hat. This woman? She would soothe Alana's wounds, make sure that none of the girls were too injured. Or maybe she would subject them to humiliating medical exams. Announce just how wide their pussies could spread to the class, weigh their breasts, force them to look inside one another's asses.
Compared to the first two, number three looked rather modest. A woman who could easily pass as Tongue Ring's mother followed after them, dressed in full riding gear. Did they have a stable of some sort? Alana hadn't noticed one when coming in, but the place was huge. Was her outfit a coincidence? Or a hint of things to come? If so, just what was it implying?
Four's outfit reminded Alana of her own. Except rather than an office slut, the petite Asian woman came off as a domineering CEO. Or perhaps a rather cross looking principal. Of course, if Alana's principal had worn suits made out of latex she might have done better in school. Or worse. Which ever one meant that she could see her more often.
The fifth woman, as it turned out, was Mistress J. Who rolled her wheelchair to the middle of the stage, seemingly oblivious to the hushed whispers that had taken over the room.
"Good afternoon, I take it we all know why we're here?" Mistress J raised an eyebrow when the room didn't fall completely silent. For her second attempt at getting their attention, she clapped her hands together. "Fantastic, you all have decided to start your orientation with a demerit. Usually demerits are handled by your specific Leader, but considering you haven't been placed yet- I'll just have to improvise."
Mistress J beckoned for a Black girl toward the front of the room, who glanced anxiously to both sides before stepping up on stage.
"One of the things that we teach during this program, is that we do not survive our worst moments alone," Mistress J gestured for a second girl to join her, this time a busty redhead. Whose attempt at being confident was shattered by stumbling on the stage. Mistress J chuckled at her embarrassment before instructing her to stand next to the first girl. "Which means that rarely will a single person ever be punished. This is the first time I've ever started out a session by punishing everyone, but well, needs must."
