CHAPTER 1

 

"If you want to get out of here today, you will agree to go with Rock, you will be forever branded with his mark and you will wear his collar. Either that, or you will repeat the last six months with the next batch of young sluts who are due here later today. It's your choice Melanie McGowan." The voice of the man was even, calculating, and that of a headmaster.

"I have no choice, do I?" Melanie McGowan stood before the man, totally naked. Her breasts were marked with the tell-tale stripes of having been flogged, her naked pubic mound was equally pink. Her labia were glistening, a combination of her own juices and the copious amount of semen she had just been filled with in the infamous Treatment Room 1, or more commonly, TR1.

"You do have a choice, of course. You know Rock's line of business, it is your choice whether you want to go with him and start a new life."

"Alright. Will the marking hurt me?"

"Not much. It will be over in seconds and the mark will take but a few days to heal properly."

"Okay, I really want to get out of this hell hole so let's get it over with."

"In that case, Melanie, sign this release paper here and then bend over the desk and grasp the far side with all your strength and spread your legs.

Melanie did as instructed and the man waited for her to sign the paper before continuing.

"This will only take a minute," said the man. "Matron, if you would be good enough to hold Melanie's shoulders down, it is important she does not move." Matron stepped forward from the shadows of the room and went to stand in front of the hapless girl before placing her strong arms on the girl's shoulders.

While she did that, and unseen to Melanie, the man walked over to the small burner in the corner of the room. When he turned around, he held in his hand a small poker with a red-hot end on which was mounted a small, engraved button. He lowered the red-hot button towards Melanie's left buttock cheek and pressed the end into her flesh. There was a sizzling sound of flesh as the branding iron bit into her. The acrid smell of the burning flesh filled the room at the same moment that Melanie screamed for all she was worth, and then in just a few seconds it was over. Matron smeared some cooling lotion onto the wound site, a place where the letter 'R' had been etched forever into her body. The letter was about a quarter inch high and was written in Script format with curly embellishments to add to its beauty.

"All done. Now, go and pack your things and come back to my office where Rock will be waiting for you," said the man.

Twenty minutes later, Melanie hobbled back into the office, the brand site on her buttock covered with a plaster to keep out infection. Rock stood to greet his new acquisition.

"You're mine now bitch and all my bitches wear my mark, like you are now, and they all wear collars too. Here's yours. The collar was a leather affair about half an inch wide and fitted with two small gold-coloured metal hoops as well as the buckle which Rock fastened tightly round the back of her neck.

With the collar fastened, Rock attached a lead to one of the small metal hoops.

"Okay, I'll see you in a couple of weeks, Ian. By then I'll have this one working for me. Come on bitch, we gotta get you to my place. There's work to do and customers to see to."

And in a few minutes, Melanie was out of the building and sitting in the passenger seat of Rock's car, wearing a simple white gown he had given her to protect her whipped body from being seen by anyone they might pass on the road. As the car left the building where Melanie had been incarcerated for six painful months, the girl wondered if she was steeping out of the proverbial frying pan and into the fire. She would find out soon enough and meantime her pussy was still throbbing from the intense fucking she had been given by Rock's big black cock, less than an hour ago.

 

***

 

The building looked impressive, set in over forty acres of well cared for lawns and shrubberies. Trees, pruned and well-kept, were placed at regular intervals along the gravelled and weeded pathways that crossed the lawns in some form of geometric pattern, and around the whole estate a twenty-foot high brick wall kept the occupants in and the rest of the world out.

Just inside the main gates, which were made of wrought iron, was a name plate - a simple plaque that said:

 

St. Anne's

Training College For Young Ladies

Headmaster: I. Markham MA, BA

 

The gates stood gleaming in their black paint to almost the top of the imposing brick wall as the minibus waited outside for the gates to swing open. Inside the vehicle, six fresh-faced young females sat looking forlornly out of the window.

"Soon have you lot inside," said the driver cheerfully. The drive from the Fieldings Young Offenders Institute had taken nearly two hours and the four warders that sat in the front seats had looked grim-faced throughout the journey.

The gates opened, the bus passed inside and the gates closed again. Two minutes later the minibus pulled up outside the main entrance and the driver switched off the engine.

"Good luck with the rest of your education," he smirked and winked at the warders.

"Right you bitches," said the lead warder, "it's time to introduce you to your new home. Everyone out and get your bags." The doors on the minibus were opened and a couple of minutes passed while the girls assembled on the gravelled driveway.

The front door to the impressive mansion opened and a tall, severe-looking man in a headmaster's black gown looked down the staircase menacingly at his new charges.

"Ladies, welcome to St. Anne's Training College For Young Ladies. I am your new headmaster, Ian Markham. Come inside and into the assembly room where I will introduce you properly to our ways here. Mr Sniggs, if you would care to come with me to my office we will deal with the paperwork."

Sniggs was evidently the head warder for he left the other three to escort the six girls into the building while he marched on ahead. Markham's study door was shut by the time the girls reached the entrance to the building and they could hear muted voices from behind it. Ten minutes later the girls were sat on wooden upright chairs facing a small platform on which sat six chairs.

Suddenly the double doors at the back of the room flew open and six men entered the room, marching right up to the platform. The three warders at the back of the room stood silently as they were joined by Sniggs.

"Do we get to see what happens next?" Dave Marshall whispered to his boss.

"Sure do and I think it will be fun. Markham is in no mood for messing around today. Here we go..."

Markham stood on the platform, scowling at the terrified girls in front of him.

"Welcome to St. Anne's. You are all here because you are persistent offenders who have failed to respond to the normal regimes of rectitude and rehabilitation. You are deemed to be a menace to society and costing the hard-working tax payer an inordinate amount of money to keep you off the streets. Our mission at St. Anne's is to correct your attitudes, complete your education and get you back out on the streets in a few months' time. I guarantee that one way or another you will all leave here as reformed characters."

Markham threw a quick glance to the back of the room and noticed the smirk on the faces of the warders.

"Right, at St. Anne's we have a zero tolerance for any form of misbehaviour, any rule breaking and any lack of effort on your part. By virtue of the kind of place we are in you, as of this moment, have absolutely no rights, including no right to question anything you are told to do. Is that understood?"

"What about our human rights?" The pretty bespectacled girl with blonde, shoulder-length hair that fell over her pert breasts was called Freya Brown.

"Young lady, you can fuck your human rights in here - they basically no longer exist."

Freya looked alarmed.

"Sorry, sir, you mean we have no rights at all?" Her voice was squeaky.

"Precisely Miss Brown. We will do whatever it takes to break you from your antisocial past, so it is up to you whether your time here is an easy one or a painful one."

"Painful, sir?" Freya looked ashen.

"Yes, painful. Before you are your principal tutors and educators. They are at liberty to punish you in any way they see fit for any breach of the rules. This establishment condones and promotes the use of the cane, paddle, flogger and whip as well as more severe forms of punishment if they are required. And that includes the stocks. Do I make myself clear?"

All the girls nodded.

"Good, because we are going to make a start right now. Dawn Chivers, which one of you is Dawn Chivers?"

Dawn turned out to be a pretty six-foot girl of nineteen years, a brunette with shoulder length hair, hazel eyes and a chest that looked to be about a 36D. She nervously put her hand into the air.

"Stand up girl," said Markham.

Dawn stood, biting her lip nervously.

"Yesterday, despite knowing you were being sent to a special place, here, you pushed another girl down the main staircase at Fieldings."

"No, sir," she mumbled.

"It was not a question, young lady, but a statement. You were taken to the Governor's office and the offence placed on your record which I now have in my office. Unfortunately, there was no time at Fieldings for you to be punished as any privilege removal would have been of little consequence, so Mrs Rawlings, your previous Governor has added a note to your record requesting I assume the responsibility for your punishment. Come up to the stage, Miss Chivers."

Dawn looked as if she was going to protest, thought better of it and walked forward the few paces to the front of the stage.

"Stand there a moment while I fetch your punishment." Markham walked over to a cupboard on the side wall, opened a drawer and extracted the three-foot rattan cane he intended to use; then he returned to the small stage.

"I think a dozen strokes of this will suffice as this is your first experience of St. Anne's."

"You're not seriously going to use that on me!" Dawn blustered, though there was a tremble of fear in her voice.

"I most certainly am, young lady."

"But caning is illegal and constitutes actual bodily harm," she protested.

"In here it is quite legal and it constitutes punishment. Now you will not answer me back again or I will double the punishment."

Dawn looked as if she was going to say something but instead tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Now Miss Chivers, turn around and face the stage, then bend over and grasp your ankles. You will remain in position until the full twelve strokes have been administered and then you will remain in position until told to move. You will not swear or utter foul language, though you can cry if you need to. If you stand up or attempt to protect your backside then the stroke will not count."

"Sh...," said Dawn as she realised the horror of her situation and turned slowly so her backside faced the other girls. Dawn was wearing a knee-length blue skirt made from wool. Barely had she grasped her ankles when she felt the back of the skirt being lifted up over her taut, full buttocks.

"No, you can't do that," she straightened up.

"I can and you will bend over. That is one extra stroke for disobedience."

"Fuck you," she blurted and then immediately apologised.

"Apology accepted. That is one further stroke for swearing. Now, bend over, girl."

Dawn bent over again and clenched her teeth as her skirt was once again raised up over her bottom cheeks, exposing her pale, taut flesh. She was wearing full, white panties that covered much of her bottom, but Markham soon pulled them back down over her cheeks and let them drop to her ankles. Finally, he pinned the skirt up over Dawn's waist, bunching the front up tightly around her stomach so it could not fall over her bottom and protect her from the caning she was about to receive. In addition, Markham knew the skirt would not fall down at the front when she stood up again.

"Fourteen strokes, Miss Chivers. Please be good enough to count off each stroke after you have received it, loudly enough so everyone in the room can hear you."

It was those words that made Dawn realise her backside and her young, pouting pussy lips were on full show to all the other inmates who she'd arrived with barely twenty minutes earlier. The feeling of being helplessly exposed was hugely embarrassing though Dawn was grateful the girls would not be able to see that she was shaved.

Before she had time to realise that the masters on the stage would get a good view of her after her caning, Dawn felt the length of rattan as it rubbed across her waiting flesh.

A moment later there was a whistling sound in the air as the cane was whipped back and then crashed into her backside, leaving a bright red mark in the same instant that Dawn let out a loud howl of pain. As she shrieked out, both hands raced up from her ankles to protect her poor bottom.

"That is one more stroke for not staying in position and if you don't call out the count in a few seconds I will add another stroke for disobedience."

"One," Dawn cried.

"Get your hands back down on your ankles and keep them there, young lady," said Markham fiercely. "God these Institutes for Young Offenders are too soft on you bitches, by half. Well you will find St. Anne`s is different - very different!"

Swish! Crack!

"Yeeooooowwwww!" Dawn howled again as the second stroke landed a half inch above the first. "T...two!" She added as an afterthought a moment later.

"Better," said Markham as he brought the cane back down on the upturned rump, causing Dawn to cry out loudly again before she added the word, "three".

"F...Four!" Dawn shrieked a few seconds later as a fourth, fiery line crossed her tender backside.

Swish! Crack! Markham wasted no time in delivering each stroke, waiting just long enough for the victim to cry out the stroke count and to howl as each fresh, slice of pain was delivered.

"F...F...five!" Dawn sobbed miserably and had barely braced herself before the air was forced out of her lungs with another loud cry and she counted the stroke.

After six strokes, Markham stopped for a moment to let the six red welt marks develop a little.

Swish! Crack! Another stroke landed almost on top of the first stroke but at a slight angle so it actually crossed the second and fourth strokes as well. This added intense pain to Dawn's suffering and she shrieked once again as she struggled to remember how many strokes she had received.

"E... eight!" Her voice was trembling with the pain as the next stroke coursed into her bottom, adding another angled line of pain to her tortured buttocks.

"You are just over half-way. I trust you are learning your lesson and that all you other girls who are watching are learning a lesson too."

Swish! Crack!

"Yeoooooowwww! N... nine," Dawn gasped through the tears as another flood of pain coursed through her bright red backside.

She cried again a moment later as the tenth stroke landed a bit too low, almost across the tops of her legs. This stroke made her lurch forward and she almost had to let go of her ankles to maintain her balance but somehow managed to rock back from her toes onto her heels.

Strokes eleven and twelve had the wretched teenager howling again and she really struggled to count the strokes properly. Then there was a pause of several seconds. It was as if Markham was waiting for the latest welt marks to form, angry red lines that were, in places, already turning purple and even blue where the cane had crossed the same area of skin more than once.

Dawn was beside herself with the intense pain in her bottom.