Endurance Academy For Wayward Girls Ch 02

NOTE: This is a serialized work of fiction with all characters over the age of 18. Themes include reluctance, humiliation, and behavior correction by any means. In Chapter 2 After being sent there by her boyfriend, Abby Collins gets a first hand taste of what the Academy has to offer for every girl.

Chapter 2

I don't drink champagne or anything really. But I woke up with what I imagined to be the worst hangover anyone's ever had. Groggily, I opened my eyes and looked around. Where was I? The room was dark but I could make out a shuttered window to my right, a book case to the left. Then I remembered.

The limo ride. The disturbing video introducing the Academy? And those images of teachers and staff. The same feeling of panic rose in me again. Shaking I tried to get up from the bed, hands trembling and legs weak. I flipped on the lamp on the nightstand. There was the shuttered, padlocked (?) window, and rows and rows of books on the room-length book case next to me. Then something else. At the end of the room next to the unlit fireplace, a padded bench of sorts on four legs. Hmm. Kind of like the box from that stupid summer my parents thought I'd be an olympic gymnast. I hated those classes. But I also didn't like the look of that thing over there.

I got up and walked unsteadily to the bookcase. And read a few titles. "True Behavior of Young Ladies", "The Kneeling Girl's Bible", "A Complete Guide to Pleasing Men." Then I recalled the dry toned voiceover from the video in the limo. "at the Academy we remake girls for the men in their lives." Er, no. I didn't care where this place was, or what it was. I'm not being "remade" for anyone. Let alone Matt? Mr. Ego. Mr All Me. I grabbed my sneakers and put them on. But the door opened.

"And where are we going Miss Collins?"

A tall, rail thin woman in a high necked, tight fitting grey dress entered swiftly, closing the high, heavy door behind her. "You've only just arrived. Don't be so anxious to get back to your boyfriend. That will come in due course. Nobody can say how long, of couse. That's entirely up to you and how you behave. Looking at your file, it could take some time."

She flipped a heavy, leather bound ledger of a book open. "Hmm let me see. Argumentative. Difficult bratty.." A stern look caught me over the tops of her old lady glasses that she hung on a chain when not in use. "That won't do. And it says here you won't... do things for your boyfriend. We'll get into all of that later." She flipped the book closed. "Now I suppose you have questions?"

I did. Too many to ask. All of them whirling in my head. Why the hell am I here? What is this weird place? I why the the hell is there a padlock on that window? But all I could say was "who are you?"

"I'm Miss Morgan. Head of House. I'm here to make sure you sure you settle in, get comfortable with the rules and know what's expected of new girls. And if you don't settle in, then I'll make sure to find you the help you need." Her voice had a dry, crisp, heavy undertone of what was it? Yes, threat. "And speaking of comfort, let's get you out of those horrible clothes and into your outfit to meet your teachers. They're eager to meet you."

Miss Morgan held out a neat folded pile of crisp clothing. "Put it on. Now."

I looked at the stack of pressed, starched clothing. A gray pinafore dress, a short sleeved white blouse with rounded collar, black stockings and a pair of alarming heels.

"Oh and this first." I looked at what she had in her hands. Rigid and boned with a million eyelets and hooks. "We've heard from a lot of boyfriends and husbands that they like their girls to sit up straight, so we've brought back corsets. A lot of the girls complain they're too tight and restrictive. But you'd be well advised to suffer that in silence."

With that I was told to strip. T-shirt, jeans, bra and panties were taken and tossed into a dark garbage bag. I stood shivering under her disapproving glare. She ran a gloved finger down my front, between my breasts and stopped at my pierced belly button. "This has to go. You'll be pierced of course but in places we decide. Now bend over."

I did I was told, too stunned to do anything else. She tapped a ruler on my thighs and told me to spread my legs. "You wouldn't believe what some girls try to smuggle in to their rooms. There's only one thing that goes between your legs young lady and that's a man. You will learn that here."

With that her gloved fingers probed, prodded and stretched me.

When she was done I held out my arms, hands still trembling, body aching from whatever was in the champagne.

"Let's get you dressed for the professor's intake visit."

The corset was heavy but I wasn't prepared for what followed. Holding onto the edge of the bed, I was told to breathe in. Her knee was in my back and it was pulled tighter and tighter. I could barely breathe. And had trouble standing up.

"It's too tight," I gasped. "what is this thing?"

I looked at myself in the mirror. And didn't recognize myself. Cinched waist, breasts high and heaving out of the corset with every breath. Then the tight grey pinafore and blouse.

"Now that's so much better. A nice girlish figure, slim waist. Just as it should be. No more of those baggy boy clothes for you."

Just then. A rap at the door. It creaked open and footsteps fell from the dark hall into the room.

"The professor is early. I'm sorry I didn't get you more prepared."

"Hello Miss Morgan." His voice barely above a whisper. "Who do we have for me."

"This is Abby Collins. I'm afraid she's a type 3 professor."

"That will need some correction," he said. "OK girl go get in position." He turned to look at the bench and pointed with his cane. "Come on be quick. No sense putting it off."

Miss Morgan simply looked blankly at me.

"Do everything he says. Everything."

"And are the others ready to witness, Morgan?" he asked her.

"Yes, I'll let them in..."

What? Wait! I whirled around from my position at the bench to see a stream of men walking in. In silence.

To be continued in chapter 3.