School of Torture
by John Savage
eBook edition copyright 2010 John Savage
Published byStrict Publishing International
Smashwords edition
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Prologue
“Please don’t do this to me. I don’t deserve this!”
“You should have thought about that before you stole from one of your fellow students.”
“But I didn’t! Oh, please, not this!”
The whining protest and pleas echoed loudly off the stone walls of the sloping passageway as three people descended into pure blackness. The lantern one carried held high was the only light, for there were no windows to bring light this deep under the ground and no electrical lights had been wired down this ancient passage. Before them, as behind them, only the stone lined walls and ceiling were visible, and only for a dozen feet as the darkness seemed to swallow the feeble yellow glow.
Two of them were dressed in black robes with cowls over their heads, the lead being a woman in her early twenties holding out the lantern before her, the second middle aged and holding onto the bare arm of the frightened teenager. Save for the cowl, the robes resembled a nun’s habit but were thicker. The cowl gave them a masculine appearance, a cross between a nun’s habit and a monk’s robe. The young woman, who could not have been much over eighteen, was dressed in a simple white smock that ended just short of her knees. Her long black hair hung down her back, stark against the white cotton. She tried to drag her heels, but the superior strength of the woman holding her arm defeated her feeble attempts to keep her from what she knew would be a terrible fate. The steel handcuffs locked tightly around her wrists behind her back aided in controlling the barefoot girl.
“But I didn’t steal that locket! Honest, I didn’t!”
”Hush, Monique,” said the older woman with a jerk of the bare arm she held tightly. “Lying will only add to your punishment,” she hissed. “You have sinned and you must pay for that sin. You must be cleansed.”
The teenager bit back her words, but tears glistened in her eyes unnoticed by the two older women.
They came to an ancient wooden door blocking the end of the passageway. Putting the lantern in a wall niche, the younger woman accepted a heavy key from the other nun. The lock was old but fully functional without a trace of rust. It clicked open, and came off to allowed her to lift the heavy bar aside. The door opened with a slight groan, as if it were suffering just as the young woman would soon be suffering.
Inside, the lantern revealed a small room, only a dozen feet long and a shade less wide. In the middle of the floor was a circular pit. The younger nun held the lantern over the pit, and then shuddered when she could see no bottom.
“Hold her, Sister Darla,” spoke the older nun, turning her charge over. Sister Darla took the young girl’s other arm. The teenager looked up into Darla’s soft brown eyes, seeking reprieve from a fate she feared almost more than death itself, finding sympathy but no willingness to help.
The other nun had unlocked the handcuffs with a tiny key from her robe pocket but the freedom was short-lived, for immediately her hands were pulled around in front of her and wrapped with turns of a rope. After a dozen turns, the rope was wrapped between the girl’s arms and over the other turns then passed up to the waiting hook hanging from a pulley set into a wooden beam across the ceiling. Monique sniffled and watched with fear-widened eyes as the rope was tied to the hook.
“Sister Darla, her feet,” snapped the nun as she jerked tight the last knot. The younger nun released the arm and knelt to bind the girl’s bare ankles together with a length of rope she found lying on the stone floor. By the time she was finished, the older nun was kneeling beside her with another rope in her hand. One end of that was wrapped over the other with several windings and knotted tightly. The other end was tied to a large cement block.
As they worked to secure the young woman, their dark shadows followed them around the stone walls like a second set of nuns. The older nun stood and placed her hands on the handle of a winch. The younger one stood by the door. As the handle was turned, the rope was pulled onto a drum, slowly lifting the girl’s hands to eye level, then over her head. The pulley was directly over the pit, and as the rope pulled on her arms, she fought being dragged towards the rounded edge of stone. But her strength was not equal to the task and soon she was teetering on the edge. With a squeal, she slipped and dropped to swing out and hang over the absolute blackness. The nun stopped the winch.
“Sister Darla, please lower the weight,” she said.
“Yes, Sister Rosa.”
The teenage girl twisted towards the door and watched in distress as the cement block at the other end of the rope from her ankles was pushed to the edge. Sister Darla took the rope and lifted the block, and then lowered it into the pit. She let it down as far as she could, until she was kneeling at the edge with her arms outstretched. When she feared that she might slip and fall in, she let go of the rope.
There was a jerk as the block fell at least three feet and the weight was taken fully upon the bound teenager with a jerk. She gasped and groaned. In the dim lantern light her body seemed to stretch a few inches longer as the weight dragged at her ankles. “Oh, that hurts! I can’t take this! It will kill me!” protested the girl, the strain having helped her to find her tongue again.
Ignoring the pleas, Sister Rosa approached the hanging girl. “You have sinned, and sinners must be punished, be cleansed of their sins,” she said as if having said the exact same words thousands of times. “The dark and the pain and the fear will cleanse your body of sin.” She reached over and placed one hand upon the neckline of the girl’s simple dress. She jerked, and the thin material tore away until it was hanging in her hand and no longer covering the firm, young, teenage body. “Tomorrow you will be able to rejoin your classmates. A night over the pit will do you good.”
Dropped the white dress into a corner, she took hold of the winch handle and pulled. The naked teenager’s body jerked and then lowered into the darkness. She whined in fear. As she sank lower, those firm young breasts disappeared from view. Then her tear stained face. A few moments later the winch was stopped and set.
“Oh, please have mercy,” begged the voice from the pretty young girl. It echoed eerily off the stone walls. “Please!”
“Come, Sister Darla, we have other duties,” stated Sister Rosa.
Sister Darla followed her superior out of the chamber, once again carrying the lantern. She held it for Sister Rosa to close and lock the door. The pleading from within became more frantic and louder until the last inch of gap was closed. But as the lock was clicked into place, they would still faintly hear a youthful voice begging for mercy. As they walked sedately up the inclined passage, the cries from behind them faded, but only from distance. Within the total darkness that enveloped her, the naked and bound teenager was screaming out her fear.
Just as the two nuns neared the top of the long passage, the sounds from behind them ceased.
“Isn’t this a harsh punishment for the girls?” asked Sister Darla.
“Perhaps. But it is our job to cleanse these girls of sin, to make them pure in heart and body.”
“Isn’t there a chance that she will go crazy in there?” asked Sister Darla, remembering the terror in those screams and wondering if she could stand the torment to which they had just condemned that young girl.
Sister Rosa stopped and turned. “You’re new here, Sister,” she said gently. “The punishments we use are all ancient and time proven. Stealing is a harsh sin, and harsh measures must be used to cleanse it from a girl.”
She turned and resumed her walk. “Sometimes.”
“Pardon, Sister? Did you say something?” said Sister Darla.
“I said that, yes, sometimes a girl will be shocked a little more than intended. But only rarely. Most girls are very well behaved after a night over the pit. When we return in twelve hours to release her, Student Monique will be very grateful and obedient.”
Darla did not doubt it. “Sister,” she said as they reached the massive wooden door at the top of the incline, “What is in the pit?”
Sister Rosa did not reply. She opened the door, passed through, and then closed it after Sister Darla was on the other side. She locked it with one of the numerous keys on a ring hanging from the thick black rope that was her belt. Then she looked up to Sister Darla’s innocent but concerned young face. She smiled. “Nothing,” she said softly. Sister Darla sighed with relief. “And terror beyond imagining,” added the older woman, still smiling.
Chapter I
Introduction to Captivity
Angel Melody Martin rested her face against the cool glass of the window and peered glumly out at the sodden, gray landscape passing by the car. After the first couple hours, it had become pretty much of a blur of quaint country cottages, trees, and plowed fields, broken by an occasional rise into low mountains then descents into forested valleys. She shifted her position on the leather seat once more, and wished yet again that time would somehow speed up and make the next few months pass in a sudden blur like the trees that lined the road.
What the hell was the name of that place she was being sent to? Monitarie Academy? Hell, she didn’t care. In only a few months she would be of legal age to inherit her father’s wealth, and then things would change! Once she got her hands on that money, it would be goodbye to exclusive private schools and out from under the thumb of her mother and that man she had married after Angel’s real father died. “Mark will be your new Daddy,” her mother had said a couple years ago. “You’ll come to love him as I do.”
Well, dear old mommy was wrong, as usual. Step Daddy Mark was a slick, egotistical opportunist who had thought he was getting his hands on the rather large Martin fortune. It was only after marrying and being stuck with her mother that he discovered the bulk of the fortune was left to Angel in her father’s will, and that what his wife was getting amounted to a pittance. Angel smiled a bit in the back seat of the huge limo. Once she was legally an adult, she would get as far away from those two losers as she could. And fast.
Was this ride ever going to end? she asked herself again. Alone in the big car since her pick up at the airport, she had fumed at her step-father and mother for pulling her out of a school she was almost getting used to, and away from her only friends. She had protested and ranted and almost screamed, but to no effect. She was still a minor and would go where her parents sent her.
She guessed that it was because of her having that affair with the Italian boy, but how they had discovered it she had no idea. She was about to drop him anyway, having become rather bored with his lack of imagination in bed. Yet he was rather well hung and knew how to use it...
Angel shifted one leg over the other and, on an impulse, spread her legs wide, allowing the short skirt to ride up her thighs. If the driver, a not too bad looking young man, was watching, let him see something. Angel smiled to herself. Maybe he was as bored with this dreary countryside as she was. She parted her legs a bit more and wished she had thought to wear no panties. That would really shake up the chauffeur.
But the glass partition between the driver and her was dark and closed, and she had no way of really knowing if he was watching or not. For a while she considered unbuttoning her blouse. She could take it off and then unhook the bra to give him a good view of one really fine pair of young, firm breasts. She had a really excellent front and she knew it. Not bad legs, either. She also knew with feminine instinct what that fine body did to men. And to some women. Being trapped in an exclusive girl’s school had taught her more about sex than learned in the classroom.
Instead she pulled the skirt up higher and slipped a hand down the waistband of the pantyhose. It felt good to finger herself. Before long she had forgotten about teasing the driver and was seriously working herself up to an orgasm while thinking of that young Italian stud. She would have preferred that young driver to stop the car and come into the back seat where he could help her to satisfy her need. She was squeezing one breast tightly with a free hand as she slide into an orgasm, gasping and moaning and letting her legs stiffen out before her.
The car drove on through the gray drizzle.
Later, Monitarie Academy came into view and Angel sighed. Another pseudo French Chateau with well manicured lawns and a rose garden. And stiffly proper instructors and not much fun.
The driver gave no indication of having seen her playing with herself as he held open the door for her and then fetched her luggage. The inside was as she had expected, plush, large and ornate. She was shown into the Head Mistress’ office where she had to wait in a small outer room until the royal high one was ready to see her. The wait was not a long one, but when the door opened she was surprised to see a woman in a long black robe emerge. Her head was wrapped in white linen and Angel immediately knew she was a nun. What the hell had her stepfather gotten her into? The middle-aged woman closed the inner door behind her and stood there regarding Angel with interest but stern features. Angel felt uncomfortable under that gaze, as if this strange woman could see both through her clothes and into her head. She shifted uneasily on the chair.
The nun reached behind her head and pulled up a cowl that almost covered her face. Then she calmly walked out of the room.
Almost immediately, the inner door was opened again and she was invited warmly in for the usual welcoming lecture. Consider that her parents were paying a great deal of money to board her at these pompous places, they always tried to make the students feel welcome. The lecture was given as if for the five thousandth time, and Angel was grateful that this one was mercifully short. She did not really pay attention to what was being told her. Then she was shown to her room where her bags awaited her.
It was a nice room, large and done in shades of blue with a wallpaper less offensive than most, consisting mainly of small white flowers on a pale blue background. She was informed of dinnertime, then left to unpack.
The skies were still gray, growing darker, and the rain still fell, a miserable drizzle rather than an honest watering of the countryside. She unpacked and was depressed. Her only hope was that she might find some other girls with a little spirit and they could have some fun. She had not yet found a school where the students did not know how to sneak out and back in without getting caught. Maybe that nice young driver lived over the garage or something. There had to be some action or she would go crazy.
Dinner was good but the other girls, while cordial in their greetings, did not seem to take to this newcomer. In short, they ignored her. Angel, being well versed in the cliques that formed in such places, knew it was a practiced and very deliberate act to let the new student know she was not part of the established hierarchy.
Angel left her door open a little in hope that some girl might be friendly enough come in, but none did. She went to bed feeling a mixture of depression and anger. In a few months, she promised herself, things would be different.
* * * * *
After the flight and long drive, Angel slept deeply, so it was no wonder that she did not hear the approach of two figures in the darkness of her room. A hand held a wad of cloth over her mouth and nose. She awoke startled by hands holding her down and a terrible smell. A few seconds later she was drifting back into a drug induced sleep.
A bright light against closed eyes stimulated Angel enough to groan and struggle back to the land of the living. She opened one eye slightly.
“She will be fine,” said a man’s voice. “Let her sleep off the effects.”
Whatever she was lying on moved as the man got up. As through a haze, Angel saw one dark figure move out of her sight to be replaced by another. She tried to move her hand up to her face but could not. Then she saw, just before she faded back into sleep, a woman’s face. A face surrounded by a black cowl.
* * * * *
Sunlight awoke Angel. She took a deep breath and went to stretch. It was then that she realized she could not move her arms. Her eyes popped open.
She was not in the same room. This one was much smaller. Gone were the fine windows with the lace draperies, replaced by a single high window set into the bare stone of the wall. It was through that narrow slit a single beam of bright sun light had come to illuminate her face. All the walls were of stone, looking ancient and harsh. There was a door, of wood and open at that moment, although all she could see through it was a corridor made of the same stone as her walls. The only furniture was the bed she lay upon, and that was both a far cry from the comfortable bed she had gone to sleep upon the night before, and from most normal beds.
With growing concern, she tugged at her arms only to discover that they were held solidly above her head. She looked up to see her bare arms disappear into holes cut in wood. Across the top of the bed were two lengths of solid wood with small half circles cut so as to form two holes just the size of her wrists. She tugged hard and was rewarded with pain as the edge of the wood cut into her wrists, and the slight rattle of a large padlock set into the hasp at one end of the two boards.
“I don’t believe it!” she said out loud. “A stock! A god damned, mother-humping wooden stock.”
Angel tried to turn to see it better, only to discover that her legs would not move either. Lifting her head and looking down, she saw that her ankles were similarly locked in a tight wooden embrace. But more importantly, she also saw that she was naked!
Her lovely breasts rose and fell with each aggravated breath, and she knew that her pubic patch was also uncovered. The bottom stocks held her feet about a foot apart, which allowed her to almost close her thighs but not quite. She tugged at her feet but the wood was quite solid.
It was then that she noted the bedding under her was not quite what one would expect. The frame of the bed was wood, thick boards and quite solid, but the part she lay on was wire mesh. The wire was thick gauge and the diamond pattern with each hole only an inch or so across so that she was supported by the wires with her flesh pushing into the diamonds.
Angel’s mind was in turmoil. The only possible explanation that came was a prank, a joke or initiation played upon her by the other students. Somehow they had snuck into her room, carried her down to the basement and attached her to this strange bed. Maybe they were just around the corner, waiting to laugh themselves silly when she began screaming for help.
But even as she tried to make that theory work, she knew it was wrong. Older girls at a school might play tricks on a new girl, but she had never seen or heard of one so elaborate. And how had they gotten her out of her bed and room with awakening her?
Then she remembered the hazy dream of a man’s voice and a woman with a black cowl. That must have been real. And the terrible smell and taste in her mouth. But what did it mean?
As she debated with herself calling out, a girl walked passed the door. “Hey,” called Angel automatically. The girl returned and entered the room.
She was a little younger than Angel, perhaps a year. Angel tried to take in a series of strange features all at once. First, the girl was wearing a strange bathing suit, a bikini, or that was what it looked like. As she approached the bed, Angel could see that it was made of black leather. It showed most of the girl’s rather nice figure, but seemed to Angel to be a couple of sizes too small. The leather pressed very tightly into the girl’s flesh, and was so tight across the bottom of the bra part that it seemed to be trying to squash her breasts. They looked as if they were going to pop out of the top of the leather covering.
Then there was the pair of handcuffs the girl wore on her wrists. The steel shone in the sunlight, and the cuffs had been tightened down until almost nothing showed between the metal bands and the tender flesh of the young woman.
After that, she noticed that the girl had lovely, wavy blonde hair and a pleasant smile.
“So you’re awake,” she said in perfectly good English, tinged by only the slightest French accent. “You needn’t try to get your hands out; you won’t be able to.”
Angel only then realized that she was still tugging and trying to work her wrists out of the wood. The girl was right, the wood was far too snug against her skin and far stronger than she.
“My name is Natalie. What’s yours?”
“Angel. Angel Martin.” She was unable to keep her eyes off the handcuffs the other girl wore with seeming nonchalance, as if she were unaware of their restriction of her hands.
“Glad to meet you,” said Natalie.
“Glad to meet you,” replied Angel without thinking. “And what the hell is going on here?! Did you lock me in this bed thing?”
Natalie laughed sweetly. “Of course not. We’re prisoners here, just like you.” She frowned at Angel’s puzzled look. And the fear that was coming over the girl’s face.
Just then a third girl entered the door. “Hi,” she offered. “I see you’re awake now. I’m Colleen.”
The newcomer looked like a Colleen. She was tall, filled out that leather bathing suit costume much better than Natalie, and had long, rich red hair to match her emerald green eyes. Her nose had a slight up turn and her eyes twinkled.
She also had her wrists locked before her in shining steel handcuffs.
“Would you two get me out of this thing?” asked Angel, trying to keep her voice calm.
“Oh, we can’t do that,” said Natalie immediately with some alarm. “We would be punished terribly if we did that.”
“Then can you at least tell me what is happening?”
“Why don’t you, Colleen,” suggested Natalie, “you’ve been here longer than I have.”
Colleen sat on the wooden edge of the bed as if settling down for a long story. “We’re all prisoners here at Saint Horrible’s.”
“What?”
“That’s what we call the place. Actually the name is Saint Hortense’s. A long, long time ago this place was a monastery. Then it was empty, and then a group of nuns took it over and named it Saint Hortense’s. We just call it Saint Horrible’s because that fits much better.”
“Nuns?” Angel was confused.
Colleen sighed. “This place is run by a strange order of nuns. You’ll meet the sisters soon enough. Just remember to be meek and don’t give them any trouble. They have ways of making you very sorry you even thought of sinning. That’s what they call any infraction of their rules: sinning. And we’re always getting punished for our sins. See?” She stood and turned her back. Upon the flesh now covered by the tiny hip-hugging leather were scores of fading dark marks.
“What are those?” asked Angel, afraid of the answer.
“Whipmarks,” said Colleen casually.
“You can’t mean that! No way!”
“I do mean it. You’ll find out soon enough.” Colleen sat back down. “Those are about a week old. I got them for being late to a class. About one minute late, actually.”
Angel shook her head. This was becoming a nightmare and she wished she would wake up from it. “I’m supposed to be at the Monitarie Academy for Girls.”
“We all were. Originally,” said Natalie. “But we were brought here. In the middle of the night and all tied up.”
This was getting harder to believe. “I’ve heard that Catholic schools were tough,” Angel said, “but whippings?”
Colleen leaned close after looking around to make sure that they were alone. “Listen,” she whispered. “I don’t think that these women are real nuns. They couldn’t be. But don’t let on that you know. They keep a very big pretence of holy righteousness, and you’ll find yourself in plenty of hot water if you challenge that.”
Colleen turned to Natalie. “Would you watch the hall?” The younger girl immediately went to stand by the door where she could see both ways down the corridor. Colleen returned to the naked girl on the bed.
“I’ll bet there is someone who would like to see you out of the way, right?”
“Well...” Angel suddenly had sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Yes.”
“Thought so. Every girl here had parents or guardians or someone who would benefit if she were to disappear and never show up again. So the girl is enrolled in the Monitarie Academy. Then she has an accident. A car accident, a boating accident, even a plane crash. Of course, the girl doesn’t really get killed. She becomes officially dead but really she’s brought here. Who was it that wanted you out of the way?”
“My stepfather,” said Angel quietly. She knew that her mother was not part of this crime, but that made little difference. “He found out that I get all the money when I turn twenty. Three lousy months away.”
“That’s it,” said Colleen brightly. “They pay the Academy enough money and you disappear. The courts will turn your money over to your grieving parents, or parent and stepparent here, and you’re officially dead. They’ve even got their own crooked doctor to sign the papers.”
“But... But that means...” muttered Angel, not quite able to form words for the thought.
“That’s right, Angel Martin, they will have to hold you a prisoner the rest of your life. Just like the rest of the girls here.”
For a while Angel did not know what to say. This was monstrous and impossible. But it also fitted. “Wouldn’t it have been easier for them to just have me killed?” she finally asked weakly.
“Maybe. But some people don’t have the heart for it. And if there is a legal problem, they could always produce you later, a victim of mistaken identity in a car crash in a distant land or whatever. And, of course, some people prefer the thought of their little girl suffering for the rest of their lives as prisoner of a bunch of sadistic nuns.”
Angel closed her eyes hard and remembered the smiling face of her stepfather the last time she had seen him. How unusually polite he had been. And in such good spirits as he told her she was going to a new school. She believed, really believed that he was capable of doing this to her.
“Are they really that bad around here?” she asked.
“Worse than you can imagine. Right now, Susan is hanging by her thumbs out in the exercise yard.”
“You can’t mean that!”
“If you could walk, I’d take you down and show you. They attached these leather bands around your thumbs and then hang you by them. And I mean really hang you. Feet completely off the ground. It hurts.”
“No.” Angel’s denial was flat, lacking conviction.
Colleen leaned closer. “And they do much worse than that to you. Sometimes for no reason. But usually they find a reason. Seems to make the game more fun for them if they have a reason to punish you.”
“I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get my inheritance.”
“Good luck,” Colleen snorted. “They keep us prisoners, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, every week of the year. There’s no time off for good behavior, believe me.”
“Escape is impossible?”
Colleen nodded. “Well, not totally. One girl did escape. I’ve been here for four years. Right after I first arrived, there was a big fuss about one of the girls managing to get out of her restraints and off into the forest. We never saw her again, and all the sisters were nervous as hell for weeks. We figured they never found Lucy and were afraid she would bring police back here. Wish she had. But nothing happened, and everything calmed down. Best guess is that she never made it beyond the forests. They stretch for miles in all directions. But, I guess you could say that escape was possible, if one of the sisters makes a mistake and you have plenty of luck on your side.”
A hard look came into Angel’s eyes. “I am going to escape,” she said quietly.
“Fine if you do, but don’t talk about it. Attempted escape is high up on the list of sins. You’d be punished something terrible. I know.”
“Will you help me?” asked Angel, looking from one girl to the other.
Colleen sighed. “Wish I could. But I don’t think it’s possible. They’re just too good. Since Lucy disappeared they tightened down their security. They never give you a chance. And the penalty is too high.”
“What about you, Natalie? Will you help?”
Natalie looked back at the naked girl stretched out on the bed and shook her head slowly once. The conflict on her face was evident. She looked as if she was about to change her mind and speak, but she said nothing.
“Natalie’s been here only a few months. She tried to escape once but they caught her and she spent a week in the Cage. That’s something you don’t want to have happen to you. It’s a small cage and you’re really crammed in there. Then they suspend you in midair in one of the dungeons and feed you bread and water for a week. I was told there is another cage that’s bolted to the floor and you just can’t move at all when you’re in that one.”
“You can’t mean that!” protested Angel. “That’s cruel.”
“Ask Natalie,” said Colleen quietly. “And I’ve been in the Cage twice. I don’t want to ever go back there. The first time they just lock you in the cage and hand you food and water once a day through the bars. The second time they bind your hands behind you and your ankles, and don’t take the ropes off until your week is up. It’s almost impossible to feed yourself without hands.”
Angel could find nothing to say.
“You’re left alone in the dark except for one brief feeding each day. All you have to do is sit or lay there and listen to your stomach beg for food. It’s no fun.”
“I would think,” said Angel quietly, “that would make you all the more anxious to get out of here.”
Colleen sighed. “Wait until you’ve been here as long as I have and you’ll be less anxious to incur the wrath of the sisters. They have us completely in their control. And they like to hurt us. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I can’t believe nuns can be like that,” Angel offered. “I just can’t believe it.”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Colleen as she stood up. “But if you need a lesson right now... You’re in one of the many punishment rooms. That bed you’re lying on is designed to do more than hold you down.” She lowered joined hands below Angel’s vision. There was a humming noise. Then she felt a tug upon her ankles. A few seconds later she was sure of it, the wooden stocks holding her ankles was moving downward, away from her.
Soon her body was taut as the gap between the top stocks and the bottom ones widened. When the wood was cutting into both her wrists and ankles, and her body was being pulled with such real force that she gasped. “Okay, you’ve proved your point. This is beginning to hurt,” she told Colleen. The redhead made no move for the switch. The motors continued to pull. Breathing was becoming a little hard for Angel. “I said, that’s enough!” she cried.
“You’ll get in trouble,” hissed Natalie from the doorway. “You know we’re not supposed to do things like that.”
Just when Angel expected to hear popping of joints, Colleen reached down and the motor silenced. But the strain continued. Colleen again sat on the edge of the bed that was now revealed to be a rack also.
“You feel helpless?” she whispered. “You realize that you cannot move your arms or legs?” She reached over and took one rigid nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Her fingernails dug into the flesh until Angel grimaced. “I could make you hurt in more ways than you can imagine. And you can’t stop me. That’s the way it is with the sisters here. They can hurt us any time they want, and we can’t do a thing about it. And most of them do like to hurt us.”
“Colleen, what are you doing?” hissed Natalie in alarm.
“Just teaching the new girl a lesson.” Her hand lowered to the edge again. Suddenly the wooden vices felt as if they were going to tear Angel apart. Then, just as quickly, the motors reversed and she felt the strain fading away.
“One touch of that button and this rack would have torn your joints apart. You ever had a dislocated shoulder? Or a hip? Hurts like hell. This thing can dislocate every major joint in your body. And probably go on to tear you apart.”
The hard look left Colleen’s face. “And this is just one of the minor toys around Saint Horrible’s. I didn’t want to hurt you, but you have to see that talk of escape or any kind of rebellion against the sisters will get you hurt. And most of the punishments are a hell of a lot worse than this.”
She leaned over and kissed Angel lightly on the lips, not a kiss of passion but more of friendship, perhaps even love.
Suddenly she was on her feet. “We have to go. I fear we’re already late for class. Just remember to be meek and mild. Goodbye.”
Suddenly Angel was alone in the stone room. The beam of sunlight had moved from her face and was creeping along the dusty stone floor. Angel felt sick inside and wanted to cry. But she did not. Inside, she promised herself that she would escape from Saint Horrible’s. Escape to wreak havoc upon the man who had sent her there.
Chapter II
Introduction to Pain
An hour or so later a nun walked into Angel’s small room. For a while she simply stood there looking down at the naked and stretched out teenager. Angel looked back up and tried to hold back all the anger she felt within. Perhaps the middle aged woman sensed the emotions whirling around inside the girl. She looked back at the door which had been open, then asked mildly, “Have any of the girls been in to see you?”
Angel was not sure what to say. She did not want to get Colleen or Natalie in trouble, but she also did not want to get herself into trouble for lying, either.
“No matter,” said the robed woman after a few seconds of silence. “You will soon enough learn the truth.” She sat on the edge of the bed and reached up to push back the cowl. Her head was wrapped in white, even her ears.
“My name is Sister Rosa. You will address me by that name or as ‘Mistress’, none other. You are here because you were a discipline problem at the last school you attended.”
“That’s not true!” gasped Angel. She might be a bit rowdy, but a “discipline problem”? Never.
The sister went on as if the interruption had never occurred. “Here at Saint Hortense you will be corrected and learn the wisdom of obedience and servitude.”
“And how long will I be here?” Angel asked abruptly.
Sister Rosa paused. Just the slightest trace of a smile tugged at one corner of her lips. “Why, my dear, until you have learned your lessons. I see that you have been talking to some of the other girls. Saint Hortense’s is a special school for those girls judged too unmanageable for other institutions of learning. All the girls here are what you might call ‘hard cases’. And there are a great many stories that circulate among the students. Most are untrue.”
Feeling a moment of doubt, Angel wondered if the girls had been teasing her. But there had been those very real handcuffs she saw on their wrists. And this bed did have a button somewhere down there, a button that could pull a girl apart. She was inclined to believe the girls over this woman.
Angel shook her arms and asked, “Why am I locked in these stocks?”
Sister Rosa smiled. “It is for your own protection. The surprise of finding yourself at Saint Hortense’s might be a bit too much, and you might try to do something... stupid.”
“Stupid? Like trying to walk out of this place?” Angel tried to keep in her anger. “Look, sister, I don’t know what that bastard stepfather of mine is paying you, but I’ll make it worth your while if you’ll let me out of here. In a couple months I come into a very large inheritance. A great deal of money.”
Sister Rosa did not acknowledge the offer. “We have found that some girls even physically attack the sisters here,” she went on. “And we can’t have that, now can we?”
Angel grunted. “I won’t attack anyone. When can I get out of this thing? And why am I naked?”
Sister Rosa only smiled faintly. “You are naked because it helps a girl to learn submissiveness and obedience by being stripped of clothing. Do you not feel more humble than you would if you were fully clothed?”
Angel did not answer for fear that she would get in trouble. The words of Natalie and Colleen were fresh upon her mind.
When her student said nothing, Sister Rosa continued. “There are rules you will have to learn. The rules of Saint Hortense’s. First off, there will be no attempt to leave here.”
“How can I?” said Angel sarcastically, wiggling against the wood that held her.
“You will address all sisters as Sister or Mistress. You will not speak unless told to do so by a sister.”
“What!”
“You will obey all orders immediately and fully. There will be no exception.”
Angel grunted, but softly. This woman, the wood holding her prisoner, and even the stone walls themselves scared her.
“You will attend classes and be expected to keep up your grades.”
The woman shifted on the edge of the bed so she could see more of Angel’s nudity. Her eyes noted the soft golden pubic patch guarding her sex, the flat tummy, the swell of soft flesh into perky, firm nipples. Angel was aware of how this woman was looking at her and shivered inside. There had been enough lesbians at the different schools, so that she was no stranger to side of sex. In fact, she had experimented a little with other girls she liked. Well, okay, she had experimented a lot. But to have a woman old enough to be her mother looking at her that way...
“All of these rules will be obeyed. Failure will result in punishment.”
Angel remembered that Colleen had told her another girl was at that moment hanging by her thumbs. “What kind of punishment?” she ventured timidly.
“Whatever is necessary to cleanse you of sin, my dear. Whatever is necessary.”
That was more frightening to the naked teenager than detailed descriptions of whippings and torture would have been. It implied that there were no limits.
“Can I talk to my Mother?” she asked. “Surely that is allowed?”
“There will be no communication with the outside world. All the girls here are being punished, and casual chats are not allowed. Saint Hortense’s is a world unto itself, and all you need is right here.”
She wanted to keep this women talking. She was learning more about the situation she found herself in, and knowledge was power, or so she had heard somewhere. The trouble was that what she was learning scared her!
“But I’m talking about my Mother, for goodness sake! Why can’t I talk to her?”
“After we finish this little conversation, the rules will come into effect in full force. Such argument with a sister will result in your being disciplined.”
“What! Being punished for wanting to talk to my Mother! You people are crazy!”
For a few seconds the robed woman and the naked teenager simply stared at each other. Angel began to calm down and regretted her outburst, but she could not help it. Telling herself to not get angry was not working in this absolutely insane situation.
Sister Rose continued as if nothing had happened. “Your introduction has been arranged and Sister Matilda will be here soon. After that, you will be returned to this cell for the night. Tomorrow you will be issued a uniform and begin classes.”
“One of those black leather bikinis?”
“You might call them that, but really they are designed to cover what modesty demands be covered and be tight enough to be a constant reminder that you should obey.”
“Like I’m modest right now?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, my dear.”
“Why can’t I talk to my Mother?”
“I told you, it’s part of the correction system.”
“Are you sure it’s not because she was told that I’m dead?”
There was silence within the stone room. Finally Sister Rosa stood, straightened her robe and turned to go.
“Well, is that true?” Angel called out loudly.
Sister Rosa paused at the doorway but did not turn around. “Your introduction will be soon,” she said quietly. “Then you will begin to understand,” she added, so softly that Angel almost could not hear it.
Sister Matilda appeared a few minutes later and Angel wondered what Olympic wrestling team had lost a heavyweight member. This woman easily topped six foot by several inches and filled the doorframe. Even her face was rather brutish, being flat with a pushed-in look. The large nose looked as if it had been broken more than once, and the eyes were small and dark, like a predatory animal’s. She pushed back the cowl, and Angel saw that her hands were larger than most any man’s she had ever seen.
The huge nun looked down at the naked teenager and frowned. “You gonna give me trouble?” she growled.
“Huh? Me give you trouble! That’s a laugh,” muttered Angel.
“You will not give trouble,” persisted the tall figure over her bed. “I don’t want to hurt you but I am strong. I obey orders.”
Ignoring the bad grammar, Angel honestly stated that she had no intention of giving anyone trouble. Under her breath, she qualified that to not include such a time as she might get her hands on a gun, rifle or squad of Marines. Then she was going to give someone trouble.
Sister Matilda fished around inside the folds of her robe and came out with a large ring of keys. As she did, Angel saw a large silver cross hanging by a chain from the rope around the waist. A second later the proper key was found and was being fitted into the large padlock holding the top bar of the hand stock closed. There was a clicked and the wood was lifted away.
For a second Angel considered doing something with her suddenly free hands, but what? She was angry, but not stupid enough to try to punch out this giant nun. Besides, her feet were still locked in the wood at the bottom of the bed. She had no option but to sit up on the bed when ordered to do so, and to put her hands behind her back. From someplace Sister Matilda produced a length of soft cotton clothesline and used it to bind Angel’s wrists together, palm facing palm. Only then did she unlock the ankle restraints.
Angel tested the ropes on her wrists and found them very tight. She figured she might be able to free herself of them, given enough time. But she could not do it in front of one of the sisters. She would have to bide her time.
It felt good to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, and to bring them together to hide her private place. She was just not used to being naked before strangers. It bothered her. Other girls and an occasional lucky boy were different.
What happened next bothered her even more. From underneath the bed, Sister Matilda dragged a wooden box. It was filled with shining pairs of handcuffs, from which she selected a pair and withdrew them, then returned the box under the bed. As she knelt, Angel considered kicking her a good, swift one in the head and running. But her hands were still bound behind her and she was not at all sure that her hardest kick would do anything but make the sister mad. She forced herself to stand still as the cuffs were locked onto her ankles. Surprisingly, there was about a foot of chain between the cuffs, so she could walk - after a fashion and with a lot of snubbing her ankles.
“Where am I going?” she asked.
“Introduction,” replied Sister Matilda as she pulled another length of rope from her robe. Must be large pockets in there.
“What is introduction?” she asked, then suddenly gave out with a gasp. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Just binding your elbows together. This is standard procedure.”
“Well, it hurts. A lot! Couldn’t you loosen them a bit?”
There was no answer. Instead the sister stood beside Angel and placed one huge hand upon her bare arm. “Come,” she ordered.
It took several minutes before Angel learned to walk without snubbing her ankles painfully. She had to take short steps, and the gait was awkward. Sister Matilda walked slowly, in no apparent hurry, and content to let her charge learn how to walk with shackled ankles.
After she managed to learn how to walk all over again (much as she had the first time she wore really high heels), Angel began to pay attention to her surroundings. The walls around her were still made of stone, and the windows high up, small and few. She noted several doors along the wall, all like the wooden door to the room she had awoken in, and all closed.