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Subject: {ASSM} The Great Adventure Girl’s Academy 1 {Anoninsac} (MF Mf Ff ff 1st spank anal)
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Date: Sat, 29 May 2004 07:10:02 -0400
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The author relishes your comments at anoninsac (at)
yahoo (dot) com. If you like this story, see my other
stories at www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anoninsac/www.

WARNINGS: This story depicts consensual sexual
activity between men and women, or women and women.
Some of the participants in the story may be under the
age of 18. If you are too young to read about sex
please do not read this.




The Great Adventure Girl's Academy

Chapter I

Yep, 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 distinctive whump of a
dropped book. Since my office is in the sub-basement I
rarely hear anything other than the pipes creaking in
the winter or occasionally a maintenance guy coming
down to ask me a question.

I'm the maintenance manager of the Prison, I mean the
Academy. As long as the two guys who work for me keep
the place running smoothly people leave me alone. The
only time my phone rings is when something is broken.
And they always want 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. Nope, 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, are
helped at the Academy. Yeah right. And Alcatraz helped
people with their job skills.

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. So Jenny grows up to be a cast
iron little bitch, and her parents, unable to control
her now, ship her off to be someone else's problem.
I'd bet most of the girls have either been pregnant or
kicked out of at least one school. This place isn't a
finishing school for debutants.

So Miss Halliday set up the Academy for these girls.
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. Marine boot camp would be
nicer. There is no Easter or Christmas break. 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. And 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 a dusty hot gut-jouncing bus
across the dirt roads of Chaco Mesa to see a bunch of
Indian ruins. Or 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.

Don't get me wrong. 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 and Math and Science and
History when they graduate. Classes start at 8:00 and
run until 4:00. The rest of their time is spent doing
duties or homework. They don't have a lot of free
time. If they don't max their SATs they pay for it. In
reality, the main course here is discipline.

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, at least to
me, that her budget won't let her feed the kids 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. Okay, I admit there aren't a lot
of fat girls at the Academy. The fact that this stuff
is also cheap 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 with
my hands. But I know everybody at the Academy and I
know how to listen. Joan Taylor, the accounting geek,
told me that Miss Halliday set this place up as a
non-profit organization she could hit the parents up
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.

Grace is perfect for this setup. She is from back East
money herself. She moves with elegance and is always
dressed in a suit that highlights her tall willowy
figure. I know she's over forty but doesn't look it. I
don't know if Lady Clairol is helping yet but she has
a wondrous mane of dark thick hair. So, the money bags
think of her as one of their own and gladly fork over
the big bucks so that she'll take care of their little
problems with the utmost discretion. 

One of the things about the setup, according to Joan,
is that we take in more that it costs to run the
place. Now 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. This does keep
the staff from complaining out loud. 

You've probably noticed that just about all of the
names are female. Other than me and the two
maintenance guys, who have 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.
So the girls are protected from men. 

One nice 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 some
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. 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."

Slowly, like a convict climbing the scaffold, she
lifted her foot. I bent down and picked up the butt,
inspecting it while looking at her. "It's not mine,"
she said.

"What's you 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. I know that among the girls and the
staff, to `work for Halliday' is slang for being a
dyke. The vehemence of Brandy's denial was
understandable.

"Brandy, I'm afraid 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 tears. "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 asked.

"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 then, I
needed to be careful.

Still not sure what to do 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 kids 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."

"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. 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. "When you bend over hike up
your skirt and drop your drawers. 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."

She hesitated and then laid herself across my lap. She
reached back and carefully pulled her panties down to
her knees. 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 ass I had ever seen. 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
beautiful creamy white ass I knew why, the old
pervert. 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 glorious rapture 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 check for a moment then
raised it slowly and then brought it down on the other
cheek. Smack. She let out a little mewling sound. The
red hand print was already fading. The sound had to be
the most intense part of the spanking. 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. I rested my hand on her
ass after the last swat. Slowly 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 legs. 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. Leaning down she swallowed my cock like a pro.
The feeling of hot teen mouth was deliriously
wonderful. 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. 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. She picked up her books, straightened
everything, then 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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