The Wayward Girl

Lucy scuffed her feet sulkily as she followed him up the gravel drive, his fingers gripping her upper arm tightly, digging into her flesh, bruising it. Before them, the gloomy Victorian gothic pile loomed, chilly and damp and forbidding, steep, mossy stone steps leading up to the iron-studded door, ivy overgrowing the windows. There was a sudden rustle and a high-pitched squeak and Lucy looked up at the slate grey sky as a skirl of bats flapped from the eaves and away over the gnarled yew trees.

“Stop dawdling girl! You’ve been nothing but trouble all year and you have only yourself to blame that it’s come to this.”

“But Daddy…”

“I sent you to three perfectly nice schools and what did you do? You got expelled from the first for spending all your time in the neighbouring boys’ school, sucking cocks in return for cigarettes behind the cricket pavilion. It completely invalidated their insurance when it burnt to the ground; I had to buy them a new one. You got expelled from the next one for screwing that biology teacher in the stock cupboard…”

“But Daddy…”

“Lucy, for the last time, it was not extra tuition! The poor man’s on the sex offenders’ register thanks to you. And the last school – oh you excelled yourself there my girl – lesbian romps with the whole hockey team, that’s bad enough. But whatever persuaded you to film it and post it on YouTube? Some of those girls were severely traumatised and the hockey sticks will be completely unusable now – not to mention the lawsuits from their parents…”

They stopped arguing and looked up suddenly as the door slowly swung open on its creaking hinges. Peering into the dark, tiled corridor they tentatively stepped inside, past the peeling wooden sign, painted in fading letters: ‘Miss Manners’ Academy for Wayward Girls’.

Miss Manners’ heels clicked loudly on the tiles as she led them down the corridor. Her tight, black satin suit cinched her waist, her buttocks rolled against the glistening fabric as she walked. Lucy’s father eyed her arse appreciatively as he followed her, occasionally nodding or making ‘hmm’ noises to show he was listening. Lucy stared around miserably at the freezing rooms and corridors, neglected and dusty and smelling of old books and cabbage. Occasionally they passed a group of girls scurrying the other way or ducking into rooms. They were demurely dressed, in grey, knee-length pleated skirts, flat shoes, dark stockings, white shirts and striped ties. Their hair was carefully tied back in pony tails or plaits and their faces were scrubbed clean and shining. No one spoke above a whisper or made eye contact with Lucy and as they passed Miss Manners they stepped aside and bobbed respectful little curtseys. Lucy tugged impatiently at her father’s sleeve, trying to get his attention, but he was listening to Miss Manners give her guided tour.

“Our girls may be wayward when they come to us but we soon teach them the error of their ways. Not that one’s expectations can be too high these days. When I was a girl, to marry well you had to be a virgin…or at least appear to be so. Men don’t want virgins any more, they want their girls well trained and broken in, no inhibitions you know. Now in here…”

She flung a door open and Lucy and her father stood frozen in the doorway, their mouths open in shock.

“…we have the beginners and intermediary blow job class. Generally the girls already have a certain amount of experience with blow jobs before they come to us. Perhaps not as much experience as Lucy…”

She raised an eyebrow sardonically and Lucy blushed.

“…but there’s always more to learn. We start them off with a simple harness and gag designed to fill their mouths without actually invading their throats. Beginners are strapped in for no more than 2-3 hours per day. As they progress they gradually move on to a harness and dildo, the dildos growing in length and girth until by the end of term I expect all my girls to be able to take the full 10 inches.”

She waved her arm imperiously at a row of girls sitting at desks, their heads tipped back, their necks bulging slightly. They turned their frightened eyes towards Lucy and her father, panting slightly, saliva dripping down their chins.

“Well done girls, carry on the good work!”

As she closed the door and swept on down the corridor she continued:

“As I say, those are beginners and intermediary. Our senior girls do splendid work with more complex machinery that allows for a good pumping action and the actual introduction of fluids which can be shot at surprisingly high velocity into the girl’s throat. Mostly we work with watered-down porridge left over from breakfast. And of course once a term we have a field trip to the local gentlemen’s conveniences. They have several excellent glory holes which give the girls a chance to test their new skills ‘in the field’ as it were. And most of them survive the experience admirably.”

She opened another classroom door.

“Now here’s one of our advanced classes.”

Lucy and her father gazed into the room. The girl nearest to them was strapped by her wrists and ankles into a chair. At her feet, a small square machine buzzed and hummed, its piston thrusting as its fly-wheel span. Over and over it thrust a thick rubber dildo into her dripping cunt. Next to her, suspended from wrist clamps in the ceiling, another girl kicked and squirmed as her piston hammered a dildo up between her legs into her swollen pussy. All around the room, girls were bent over their desks, on their hands and knees on the floor, chained to the wall, swinging from ropes. Each one shuddered and whimpered as her dildo pounded relentlessly into her, each one was helplessly impaled. They looked pleadingly at Lucy and her father, tears brimming in their glazed eyes.

“I’m pleased to say we have a wide selection of dildos for the girls – all the way up to 12 inches and with a variety of designs of ridges, nodules and irritants - and we don’t let them progress until they’ve thoroughly experienced all of them. There’s very little technique involved in what we teach and some have criticised me for that but you have to remember these are wayward girls. What we teach them is humility – we break their spirits if you like. All my girls leave knowing that a cock is something they must submit to without question at any time of the day or night and for any length of time. I think that’s so important, don’t you?”

“What? Oh, yes. Yes, you’re so right,” murmured Lucy’s father, distractedly as he watched a pale blonde girl begin to sob.

“Now then Jane,” said Miss Manners, briskly, “that’s not at all the school spirit, is it?”

As she closed the door she said, “Some of the girls do find this a challenging class, I’ll admit. But you know they all take to it in the end and they positively go looking for extra practice outside class. We make extensive use of the stables for this very purpose.”

Lucy plucked anxiously at her father’s coat. “Daddy, Daddy,” she hissed, but Miss Manners had already steered them into another classroom. This room was disturbingly normal. Rows of girls sat behind desks, backs straight and books open before them. But as Miss Manners walked in they all stood and Lucy stared with horror as she saw the stools they had been seated on – each hard wooden seat sported a carved cock, nine inches long and glistening with lubricant.

“Please be seated girls. Now, Miss Strickland, what are the girls reading today?”

Miss Strickland’s chair was the same as the girls’ and Lucy watched her settle back onto it, wriggling her hips as the wooden dildo slid into her arse.

“We’re reading The Story of O, Headmistress.” She nodded at a nervous-looking girl, who cleared her throat and began to read.

“You've never tied her up?"

"No, never."

"And never whipped her?"

"No, never whipped her either. But as a matter of fact..."

It was her lover speaking.

"As a matter of fact," the other voice went on, "if you do tie her up from time to time, or whip her just a little, and she begins to like it, that's no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears."

Then they made O get up and were on the verge of untying her, probably in order to attach her to some pole or wall, when someone protested that he wanted to take her first, right there on the spot. So they made her kneel down again, this time with her bust on an ottoman, her hands still tied behind her, with her hips higher than her torso. Then one of the men, holding her with both his hands on her hips, plunged into her belly. He yielded to a second. The third wanted to force his way into the narrower passage and, driving hard, made her scream. When he let her go, sobbing and befouled by tears beneath her blindfold, she slipped to the floor, only to feel someone's knees against her face, and she realized that her mouth was not to be spared.

“Excellent!” cried Miss Manners, “A splendid lesson girls. She learned to submit and the men appreciated her for it. Make sure you do the same.”

“Yes Miss Manners”, chorused the girls.

“Now, onwards and upwards,” she said, showing them out. “We’re rather proud of our gymnasium.”

The gym gleamed with polished wood and echoed to the sounds of exertion. They gazed in wonder at the naked girls climbing ropes, vaulting horses and hanging from wall bars.

“I do believe that physical exercise should be taken naked wherever possible. Of course, we can’t extend that principle to all our activities – the cross-country running in particular upset some of the local land-owners – but in the gymnasium we are as nature intended.”

She stood in the middle of the room, her arms extended as she demonstrated the range of activities. Lucy shivered as she realised that each girl was impelled to compete by fierce, thick-set, track-suited women, each with a crop in her hands or a whip curled round her wrist. A girl lost her grip on the rope, sliding painfully a few feet down the rope before steadying herself, releasing one hand at a time and blowing on its scarlet rope burn. She squealed as the whip cracked through the air, curling round her thighs and she frantically began to climb again, desperate to climb out of reach of the stinging leather.

On the other side of the gym, a line of girls vaulted over a horse, each one shrieking as the crop swiped their buttocks, cutting throbbing red lines into their wobbling cheeks. They ran back to their place at the end of the line with tears in their eyes, waiting until it was their turn again.

Around the walls of the gym, girls hung from the wall bars, their knuckles white as they clung on, screaming and writhing as the whip slashed the soft underside of their tits, its tip stinging their swollen nipples. Lucy flinched in sympathy and clasped her father’s arm tightly, half hiding behind him. He put his hands in his pockets, taking his time and surveying the sweating, struggling, sobbing girls. “Very good, very good,” he murmured to himself.

On and on they climbed up the school, along chilly corridors and up narrow stairs until they reached the attics.

“Our girls sleep in dormitories and we keep a Spartan house but I think it builds character.”

She opened the door to a long, bare room with naked light bulbs and iron bed frames. The single fireplace at one end was boarded up and the windows were small and high, showing nothing but bleak sky. But that wasn’t what Lucy and her father noticed first. Tied to a bed frame with school ties, one of the junior girls was stretched out and surrounded by senior girls. They sucked on her tits, nipping her nipples with their teeth and making her squeal; they thrust their fingers into her, frigging her tight little pussy while she moaned and twisted. As they watched, one of the girls drizzled oil onto her hand and thrust four fingers roughly inside the girl’s cunt, drawing them out until only the tips were inside her, then she folded her thumb into the palm of her hand and slowly forced it back into the screaming girl’s slit. Miss Manners stood for a moment, smiling indulgently and watching the young girl being fisted as another senior girl straddled her face and ground her dripping cunt against it. As the other seniors began strapping each other into harnesses and oiling the dildos attached, Miss Manners turned to Lucy and her father.

“Yes, we try to let the prefects deal with little issues of discipline for themselves. Mostly it works out very well. It instils a sense of community responsibility and we only have to step in occasionally when things go wrong. Of course it’s very sad when that happens but it can’t be helped and we always send a representative to the funeral.”

As Miss Manners and her father turned to go back down stairs, Lucy stood, rooted to the spot in the doorway, watching as the first of the prefects drilled her strap-on into the weeping girl’s arse. Her father grabbed her by the arm and tugged her after him.

“Now this is the technology corridor,” said Miss Manners. “Of course we don’t actually teach the girls technology – don’t want to give them the means to pick locks or escape restraints, do we? No, we invite the local boys’ school in to use our facilities, and that includes our girls…”

She threw open the double doors at the end of the corridor on a cavernous room that echoed with the sound of drills and saws and hammers. It smelled of wood-shavings and machine oil.

“Each group of boys has been working on their own project this term and as you can see, they’ve come up with a variety of ingenious design solutions when it comes to dealing with our girls.”

Each girl in the room was restrained in a different way. One knelt on the floor, her thighs splayed, her wrists chained to her ankles so that her back arched painfully. Protruding from her cunt was a dildo adapted from a cattle prod that was wired to a car battery. On top of the battery sat an alarm clock, remorselessly ticking down the seconds until the switch would be tripped. Another girl was immersed in a giant glass water tank, wrists cuffed behind her back, feet kicking as she scrabbled for a foothold on the bottom. Her lips were wrapped tightly round a dildo that dangled over the tank. She sucked on it hard, the only thing keeping her head above the rising water. As Lucy walked slowly round the tank she saw the ring that pierced the girl’s pussy lips and the chain that linked it to the base of the tank. A third girl perched on a bicycle saddle that had been pressed into service as part of a contraption which raised her arse high in the air while spreading and strapping in place her wrists and ankles. Further straps bound her waist and her breasts and gagged her mouth. At the side of the contraption stood a wheel, also salvaged from a bicycle, and driven by a chain and dynamo. To the wheel was attached a series of thick leather belts, each one flying through the air and cracking loudly against her scarlet buttocks.

Groups of boys surrounded each girl, tightening straps and chains and ropes, turning up the speed on some machines, dripping oil onto others. Lucy’s father moved from one group to the next, asking them questions about their projects, getting them to demonstrate the features of their designs, their top speeds, their cruel subtleties.

Lucy fled from the room, out into the corridor, running slap into Miss Manners who grabbed her by her hair and smiled at her tightly. “Now then Lucy, no running in the corridor is our rule and a caning is the punishment for breaking that particular rule.”

“Let me go! Let me go you old witch!” yelled Lucy. “You can’t touch me, my Daddy won’t let you, let me go!”

Minutes later, in Miss Manners’ office, Lucy trembled and bit her lip as she bent over the desk and curled her fingertips around its edge. “Feet wider please, Lucy!” barked Miss Manners and, flushed with shame, Lucy spread her feet, parting her thighs.

“I’m not surprised to learn you didn’t cane Lucy yourself, Mr Tyler. It’s so often the way with our girls when they first come to us. If only their daddies weren’t so indulgent with them they wouldn’t turn into such little sluts. But you’ll be pleased to learn it’s not too late. We’ll do everything we can in term time but even in the holidays a regular beating will help keep your precious daughter on the straight and narrow. If you’d like to make yourself comfortable – sugar in your tea? – you can observe my technique.”

Miss Manners gently placed the narrow, springy cane against Lucy’s buttocks. She drew it slowly across them, letting its tip rub her swollen pussy. She swished it through the air a couple of times, making Lucy flinch. Then she rapidly raised it high above her head and slashed it across both buttocks. Lucy howled, hopping from one foot to the other as tears pricked her eyes. Miss Manners waited for Lucy to compose herself and resume the position and then repeated the ritual. The second stroke cut across the top of Lucy’s thighs, the third and fourth stung one buttock each, the fifth clipped the edge of her cunt and the sixth landed exactly where the first had done, deepening the stripe to an angry purple. Miss Manners placed the palm of one hand flat on the small of Lucy’s back and delivered the next six strokes without any ritual, hard and fast slashing at her jiggling buttocks until Lucy was sobbing loudly and whimpering as she begged her to stop.

They let her curl, disregarded, on the floor, rubbing her burning flesh and weeping softly as they discussed the contract.

“In return for our fees – up front by banker’s draft if you please Mr Tyler – we will undertake to educate Lucy in the arts of obedience and submission. By the time she leaves here she’ll be a suitable wife for any one of your business acquaintances – our girls are very popular overseas, in more traditional countries. Or, if a career were more what you had in mind for her then you’ll find she commands a market-leading rate on an hourly or nightly basis in any one of the top London hotels. If you’d just like to sign here, by your account details, and initial here, here and here, by the clauses relating to severity of punishment, branding with the school crest and responsibility in the event of a fatality. Splendid.”

Shivering in the dormitory, Lucy listened as her father’s car swept down the gravel drive. Her wrists and ankles chafed against the heavy iron cuffs attached to the bed frame and she shuddered as she heard the laughter of the prefects as they thundered up the stairs, eager to welcome the new girl.