That's what it's called, The Great Adventure Girl's Academy. To the girls who live here, it's The Prison.
I was in my office, buried deep in the bowels of the main building, when I heard the whump of a dropped book. My office is in the sub-basement and I rarely hear anything other than the pipes creaking in the winter or occasionally one of the roughnecks who work for me coming down to ask a question.
I'm the maintenance manager of the Prison, I mean the Academy. As long as the two lunkheads who work for me keep the place running smoothly, I get left alone. Rarely do I have to box their ears to get the work done, but I will if I have to and they know it. The only time my phone rings is when a toilet is broken. The jerk always wants it fixed now. Nobody has any sympathy for the fact that the Academy is a hundred miles from civilization and parts have to come overland by wagon train. No, they want it fixed now.
The big dyke, Grace Halliday, who set up the Academy, bought this place and refurbished it into a fortress where parents could send their troubled little brats. Girls, between the ages of twelve and seventeen, who need additional help with their 'life skills.' These darlings are helped at the Academy. Yeah right, like Alcatraz helped people with their life skills.
Life skills, my ass. What the little brats needed was a parent while they were growing up. You've seen the kind of girls who wind up at the Academy. The kids who run through stores knocking people down or scream at the top of their lungs in restaurants while their parents preen, isn't little Jenny just darling. I don't want to inhibit her little psyche. You know watching those brats that they are going to grow up to be axe murderers or lawyers. Darling little Jenny grows up to be a cast iron little bitch and her parents, unable to control her and finally realizing it, ship her off to be the Academy's problem. Most of the girls have been kicked out of at least one school and in today's permissive atmosphere, that means the girls had to work at it. This place isn't a finishing school for debutants.
Miss Halliday set up the Academy for this kind of girl, rebellious and out of control. It's not cheap for the parents to get their kids locked up. I mean educated in our fine facility. The girls all come from money. I think Halliday modeled the Academy after a convent run by the Sisters Who Cause Perpetual Suffering of Mother Superior Penetence, patron saint of the Inquisition. Marine boot camp would be nicer. There is no Spring Break and Christmas break is two days, loaded with homework. Part of the normal 'course of study' is summer intensives. That way, the parents don't even have to be bothered seeing their little brats once a year. Most of the girls only leave when they graduate. Believe me, they have an incentive to graduate and get out of this place.
Sure the girls get outside the walls during supervised tours. Like the trip in the middle of a hot New Mexico summer to study desert cacti with Miss Jordan, the science teacher. I'm sure the little darlings really look forward to a three hour trip in an un-air conditioned bus when the thermometer is busting a hundred and ten. Or the trip in a dusty hot gut-jouncing bus across the dirt roads of Chaco Mesa to see a bunch of Anasazi ruins. Chaco is an interesting place. All this talk about Indians living in harmony with nature; hogwash. Chaco canyon was a beautiful forested valley until the Anasazi came along. They cut down the entire forest to build the great houses of Chaco. All this baloney about ecologically sensitive Indians is just that, baloney. The only reason they never transformed the wilderness is because they were too technologically backwards to do it. Do you really think they liked living on the edge of starvation and wouldn't have built dams if they could? You have to be as stupid as those Earth First zealots to believe that. Yeah, I like living in disease and squalor because I'm in tune with nature! And the horrible thing is those Eco-zealots would have us all living in squalor, to 'save the Earth.'
Don't get me wrong about the education at the Academy. The girls do get educated. They don't have a choice. We have the numbers to show it too. Over ninety percent of the girls get accepted into college. The class work emphasizes the basics. These girls will know English, Math, Science, History, and two languages when they graduate. Classes start at 8:00 and run until 4:00. The rest of their time is spent doing duties or homework. It is on purpose that they don't have free time. Free time equals getting in trouble. If they don't max their SATs they pay for it. In reality, the main course here is discipline. But the truth is, people only develop self-discipline by following the model of imposed discipline. That's why boot camp is the way it is. If these girls had any imposed discipline growing up, they wouldn't need this crash course. What I hate about the set up is after the girls do get it, I never see them get to go home. Their parents are just as delinquent as when they rasied them. Gone but also forgotten and the cocktail party is at seven, Dear.
Miss Halliday had a great idea in setting up this place. She makes the girls do most of the menial work. The school laundry is run by the girls. The girls do most of the housekeeping. The cafeteria is staffed by the girls. Our chef, Georgette Dyson, can make a damn fine meal. But she's always complaining that her budget won't let her feed the girls the way she'd like. The staff eats pretty well. It's hard sometimes watching the girls assigned to the staff dining room practically wiping the drool from their chins as they watch us eat. Georgette says the girls swipe food from the staff plates before they send the plates through the clippers to be cleaned. The girls get 'healthful' food; soy burgers, tofu ice cream, veggie this and that. There aren't a lot of fat girls at the Academy. The fact that this healthy stuff is also cheap but tastes like cardboard has nothing to do with it. Right.
I can see you asking, why the hell do people stay if it's such an awful place to work? Money. I'm not really book smart; most of my learning has been just like the way I settle arguments, with my hands. I know everybody at the Academy and I know how to listen. Joan Tyler, the accounting geek, told me that Miss Halliday set this place up as a non-profit organization so she could hit up the parents for additional tax-free donations. Most of the money the parents spend is a charitable deduction. It's understood that the tuition only covers 10% of the costs of locking up, oops, educating their little brat. The parents get to deduct most of the cost and get rid of the problem they created at the same time. It's win-win for everyone except the little terrors and the IRS. Fuck them, right?
Grace is perfect for this setup. She is from back East money herself. She moves like those hoity-toity Eastern bitches. She is always dressed in a suit that highlights her long gams. I stare at her just like the dads before they fork over the money. I know she's over forty but doesn't look it. I don't know if Lady Clairol is helping but she has a mane of dark thick hair, the kind you'd like to grab hold of as you shoved it to her from behind to wipe that superior look off her face, good and hard. The money bags think of her as one of their own and gladly fork over those big bucks so that she'll take care of their little problems, um daughters, with discretion and they can brag she is getting the finest education.
One of the things about the setup, according to Joan, is that we take in more that it costs to run the place. Miss Halliday has a pretty good rake off as the Director. But Joan told me that the IRS takes a dim view of charities where all the money goes to the honcho. So to keep the auditors at bay, Dyke Halliday pays above average wages. In fact, she pays top dollar and explains that we need high wages, including her take, to attract people to the boonies, and the fact we run year around. It also serves to keep the natives in line. No one wants to kill the golden goose by complaining out loud and drawing unwanted attention.
You've probably noticed that all of the names are female. Other than me and the two maintenance toughs, who are allowed no contact with the girls, the only other male around is Jerry Beckworth, the school counselor. He is supposed to help their damaged psyches. He does talk to the girls, once a quarter, in between his efforts to bed every skirt on the staff. Well, except for Halliday. She doesn't swing that way. Halliday has made sure the girls are protected from men.
One thing about so few men within a hundred miles is that the female staff who aren't dykes have limited choices. The two guys who work for me have hygiene issues and Jerry is so predatory that the women kind of shun him unless they are really horney. That just leaves yours truly. Every once in a while one of the ladies will sidle up after dinner and say, "I have something in my room I'd like to show you." I like that kind of show and tell if you catch my drift.
With our meals and board covered, that big paycheck goes straight to the 401 and other investments. I figure with a little recovery in the market, I can bust out of the Prison and retire when I'm fifty. That's worth a little inconvenience and keeping my mouth shut about what I see.
I got up from my desk and poked my head out of the door. There was nobody in the hall. Then I smelled the smoke. Cigarette smoke. There is no reason for any of the staff to hide down here to smoke. I snuck down the hall. The door to the boiler room was ajar. The smell was stronger. I opened the door a little more. Sitting on a chair with her books in her lap and puffing on a cig was one of the little darlings. She was dressed in the school uniform, white shirt, black and white plaid skirt, white socks and black shoes. The only color allowed on the girl's uniforms was the school crest. It was a different color for each dormitory. Hers was red, for the junior-senior dorm.
I pushed the door open. She looked up, panic flooded her face as she flung the butt down and put her foot on it before looking up and trying to smile.
"And what are you doing down here... smoking?" I asked.
"Oh no," she said. "I was just... resting."
I stepped into the room. "Lift your foot." She stared at me, not moving. "Lift it," I scowled,
Like a convict mounting the scaffold, she lifted her foot. I bent down and picked up the butt pretending to inspect it while looking at her. "It's not mine," she said.
"What's your name?"
"Brandy," she answered.
"Do you work for Miss Halliday?" I asked.
"No," she blurted out. "I work in the copy room."
The girls who 'work for Miss Halliday' are their own special clique in the school. Not only do they have a direct line to the Big Dyke but they also live in the dorm connected to the staff quarters through a door only Halliday has a key to. It was accepted that the girls all liked beaver munching and Miss Halliday puts them to good use. Among the girls and the staff, to 'work for Halliday' means being a dyke. The vehemence of Brandy's denial was understandable.
"Brandy, I'm going to have to report this."
"God no. I'll lose my job in the copy room. I'll have to go back to the cafeteria," as tears started to well up. She dropped her head and I saw a few tears fall on her books.
Shit. I have always been a sucker for a woman's tears. Guys I could punch until their faces crack, but a woman crying... "Maybe we can do something," I said having no idea what that could be. I just wanted her to stop crying.
"Oh please. Anything. I'll do anything," she said.
"You do know you're not supposed to smoke?" I asked. She nodded. "By the way, where the hell did you get a cigarette?" I asked.
She looked away. "Would you rather tell Miss Halliday?" I said blackmailing her.
"No, please. Promise you won't tell anyone. I can't get her in trouble," she said.
Her? Interesting. "Okay."
She paused and considered alternatives then said, "Miss Gonzalez sometimes will give us a cigarette for helping her after class."
That was interesting news. I now had something on Nancy Gonzalez, the English teacher, if I ever needed it. What I really wanted to do was to catch the old dyke herself carpet munching one of the little darlings. With something over her head I could have an ideal little existence here while I waited for retirement. But the harridan was careful as hell not to get caught with her little dykettes. Until I had the goods, I needed to be careful.
Still thinking, I told Brandy, "You need to be punished some way for breaking the rules."
"I could help you after class," she suggested.
That was one of the standard punishments, helping a teacher after class. It ate into what little precious free time the girls had in between classes, duties, and homework. Not a good idea. Everybody would wonder why I was punishing a student. I shook my head, "Nope. That would raise some questions you couldn't answer." She nodded. I knew what my Pa always did to my brothers and sisters. "I guess we use the old fashioned one." I started to undo my belt.
Her eyes got a little wide, "What? You're not going to rape me, are you?"
I laughed. "No. I'm going to spank you."
She started shaking her head, "You can't do that."
"Hell I can't. Your choice. A spanking or Miss Halliday. You have ten seconds." I looked at my watch the hand slowly ticking off the seconds.
Poor Brandy had a most disbelieving look on her face. Not surprising. A few good whippings when she was young would have kept her out of this place. I have to admit to having fun watching her face. When the time had passed I looked up. She said nothing. I started to put the belt back on and said, "Miss Halliday then."
"No please. Okay, I'll do it. What do you want me to do?"
I sat down on a workbench and told her, "Across my lap." Her lip started to quiver but she put down the books and walked over. "Drop your drawers and bend over. It's going to be a spanking you'll remember."
"Bare?" she asked. "You're going to see my butt?"
"Yep. That way it stings. This is supposed to be punishment you know." Part of the punishment of the spanking is the embarressment but she'd find that out soon enough.
She hesitated, reached down, and carefully pulled her panties down to her knees. "All the way," I said. She pushed once and her panties fluttered down to her ankles, just how I like my women, helpless and bare. Then she grabbed the hem of her skirt and slowly raised it up over her back. I know it was embarrassment that made her move so slowly, but that slow revelation was actually erotic. I hadn't expected it to be but it sure turned out to be. I was staring at the most perfect little pussy I had ever seen. Seen from afar as I usually did I was never all that turned on by the little darlings. Who needed a whimpering little greenhorn. I liked my women a little slutty with big jugs and who can suck the cork out of a wine bottle. If I needed relief and none of the females were willing, I'd head into Santa Fe and buy a little experienced tail. Brandy changed my mind. "Over the knees," I told her. She bent over my knees, her ass high up, her head hanging down, her arms were holding her head off the dirty concrete floor making her truly helpless. I had the belt in my hand intending to use it. But I knew immediately why my Pa had always used the belt on the boys and did the girls barehanded. He used to say that the girls were more delicate. But looking at this girl's perfect white ass I knew why, the old pervert was a liar. I was a chip off the old block. I wanted my hand on her bare butt.
I brought my hand down slowly on her cheek. She flinched from the contact. I left it there a second. Oh what I was feeling. My cock began to respond. Raising my hand I brought it down on one cheek. Smack. Hard, but not too hard. I'm sure it stung but not too much. She expelled her breath with a whoosh. I left my hand on her cheek for a moment and then raised it slowly and brought it down on the other cheek. Smack. She let out a little mewling sound. The red hand print was already fading. I gave her several more, letting my palm linger on those sweet ass cheeks between each swat. My cock was rock hard and I noticed that little Brandy was squirming on my lap. She was definitely rubbing against the bulge in my lap. I gave her several more swats. There was a tint of pink on her white ass now. As I rested my hand after the last swat I trailed it down between those fine little cheeks and along the crack. She was wet and moaned as my fingers rubbed along her cunt. The little minx was getting off. I buried my fingers in her pussy and she moaned aloud, pushing herself back against my hand. Oh yes, little Brandy needed it. And I needed some relief myself.
"Now for the rest of the punishment," I said.
That brought her head up. "What?"
I rolled her off my lap and onto the bench, practically ripping her panties off her ankles. She laid back, eyes wide, as I pushed her legs apart and buried my face in her bare pussy. She wasn't complaining as my tongue lapped along her slit and lanced into her hot, ripe pussy. Brandy moaned and quivered as I wrapped my tongue around her clitoris and sucked on her pussy.
She was hot and ready for a fucking when it occurred to me that I didn't have any condoms. Shit. I wanted to fuck this little tart. But no condom meant no fuck. I was at least going to finish her. I sucked her clitoris and flicked it mercilessly. Her legs went stiff and her hips started to tremble as she wailed out her climax.
She went limp. I pulled back and felt the pain of my poor cramped cock. Muttering to myself, I pulled my cock out and ran my hand over it. I wished I could fuck this little vixen but the danger was too great.
Her eyes opened and focused on my cock. "Are you going to fuck me?"
"Nope. The nearest condom is a hundred miles southeast unless I could borrow one from one of the other teachers and I think that would arouse some curiosity. But a pregnant student would get me killed."
She looked as frustrated as I felt. I started to stroke my cock. I had to have some relief. "I'll do that," she offered.
"What?"
"Like you did for me," she said. She rolled off the bench and crawled over to me her eyes never leaving my cock. She swallowed my cock like a pro. She attacked my cock with lips, tongue, and hand. This wasn't the first cock she had sucked. It didn't take long for her to suck my cum right out of my cock. I blew a load and she swallowed it all.
I fell back against the bench, wiped out. She smiled and licked her lips. "It's been two years," she said.
"Two years?" I asked.
"I've been here two years. I almost forgot how good that felt," she said. "My dad caught me with my boyfriend and his brother while we were getting stoned one afternoon. All three of us were nude and had been doing it." I raised my eyebrows and she just shrugged. "Yeah, both of them. How was I to know? Dad was supposed to be working. He flipped out. Kicked the shit out of them and then he and mom sent me here. Can you get condoms?" she asked.
"This weekend. I can go into Santa Fe." I said.
She looked at her watch. "Shit, I'll be late for duties." She grabbed her panties and quickly pulled them on, grimacing a little when she touched her ass. She picked up her books, straightened everything and heading out the door asked, "Can I come back sometime? I'm not sure I got all the punishment I deserve."
"I'm quite sure you deserve more than you got," I answered.
She laughed and ran out the door.
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