The Academy Ch. 02

I'd missed the first half of the day, but I was still sent to "classes" in the afternoon. It was rather a blur, like I was on auto pilot, just trying to get through the day. The classes were odd, to put it mildly. How to walk in high heels was one. We had phys ed, of sorts. Then there was dick sucking with Mr Rogers. Well, dildo sucking. The whole class were given realistic dildos and apparently this would teach us to give good blow jobs. By now I knew I'd gotten into some serious shit, but I couldn't even begin to think about it. By the end of the day I tumbled into bed, exhausted enough to fall asleep instantly.

When I awoke the next morning, my head had cleared and I began thinking logically. Obviously they were training us to do some sort of sex work, and my consent in the training seemed not to matter. None of the staff had seemed concerned or surprised that I didn't want to be here. There were guards. Obviously I wasn't the only one here against my will and I wouldn't have been the first one to think of escaping. But this didn't figure with the drug trials. That detail didn't seem to fit. Were we being held here for two purposes? I gingerly fingered my bottom. I was sore everywhere, my legs ached, but my anus itself felt just the same as it had before the assault on it yesterday.

I decided, for now, the best thing I could do was to keep my head down and avoid attention as much as possible, while I learnt more about this place. So I dressed in the uniform and rang the bell to be released from my room. Mrs Duckworth inspected my anus and took a close-up photo of it before she allowed me to leave my room.

Breakfast was held in the meal hall. I'd missed breakfast yesterday, but been present for the other meals which I'd had to eat on my own little table under the guard of James. But today I was allowed to sit with my class. Though teachers and guards patrolled the meal hall and talking was discouraged, we managed to talk a little.

"What did you think this place was before you came?" One girl asked me.

"A hotel," I said. I'd been told that it was a live-in position as a concierge, my ability with languages made me desirable, apparently.

"Who sold you?" she asked.

"My stepmother." The headmaster had mentioned yesterday that they'd paid a lot for me. She was the one who'd recommended the position and set it all up. Unless someone else had deceived her, and I couldn't think who, it must have been her. Despite Daddy's wealth she was always having money issues. Whatever they paid for me, and of course I did wonder how much, would have been a nice boost between the monthly payments she received from Daddy's estate.

"Ouch," the girl commented. It would have been polite to make some conversation about this, what did she think this place was? Who sold her? But we had limited talking time and I needed facts.

"So, what can you tell me about this place?" I asked.

"You mean what the fuck is going on?"

"Yeah, I mean, I've made guesses..."

"Basically, they acquire us and train us to be sex slaves." Pretty much what I'd expected.

"So is this a brothel too, or they send us--"

"Oh no, not brothel work. No, actual sex slaves. As in, when we're ready some rich mother fucker comes and buys us to be his personal slave."

"What!" I hadn't expected that, probably because I hadn't heard of such things and had never imagined them.

"Quiet!" our whispered conversation had caught the attention of one of the guards, so we stopped talking. Despite the million questions zooming round in my head, I didn't ask them; the guard remained close so we continued eating in silence, and didn't get the chance to talk again.

First class of the day was beauty with Mrs Lane. It wasn't so bad now that I wasn't strapped down, naked, being waxed in front of the class. While Mrs Lane believed "you cannot be beautiful and hairy" and insisted on inspecting us-- everywhere-- before class, once the class started we got to play with makeup and learn hair tips.

Second class was French. Mr Mercier, the teacher, was tall and thin and had thick dark hair and a moustache which was almost comical. He pulled me aside as we filed in.

"Have you learnt any French before?" he asked.

"I speak French fluently," I said.

"Oh?" he asked. So, word of my virginity had reached The Academy but not the fact that my parents had dumped me in a French convent for most of my life. I gave him a brief outline of my history. In French.

"I see. Well, you must take another language then. You can't waste a whole period on something you already know." Ugh. I'd played that wrong. Should have said I knew only a little and been a miraculous high-achiever.

"What are the choices?" I asked, wondering if any of them would be a language I already knew or at least had some proficiency in.

"You don't get a choice, you'll be assigned a new one. Your classes are chosen to mould you into the most desirable woman you can be."

"Uh-huh." Most desirable woman? More like most desirable slave.

"Well, take a seat, I'll make enquiries. You'll need to sit through this class for today." He took his mobile phone from his pocket and typed out a message on it. Should I tell him the other languages I spoke? I considered it only briefly before deciding no, and made my way to a spare seat. If I got assigned another language I already spoke, then I could have a period to slack off.

As class progressed, I regretted that decision. I was bored, and my mind had the luxury to wander. Thought of what happened yesterday, what might happen today or tomorrow, what life as a sex slave would be like. It was grim. Would my eventual master use me for himself only? Or trot me out at parties as a fuck-toy for entertainment? Would I stay with one master? Or be traded around, bought and sold at the whim of rich men? What happened when I got old? With nothing to distract me from my thoughts, by the end of the class I felt the worst I'd felt since my arrival. A slack off period once a day did not sound the best of ideas now.

Mr Mercier signalled to me as we left the class.

"Did you hear what language I'm to take tomorrow?" I asked.

"Not as such," he had a little frown on his face. "I'm told you already speak a number of other languages, aside from English and French?"

"Well, none so fluently, but I'm conversational in Spanish and Italian, and Ru--"

"Yes, well. I was told to ask you what language you would like to take?" Exactly what he said wouldn't happen.

"Well, what are my choices?" I asked.

"I was just told to ask you, if any language, what one?" Earlier I'd been excited by the thought of an easy ride in language class. Now I craved the opposite. What were the hardest languages? Well, it was a mater of perspective, wasn't it? Some said English was hard but not so when you've grown up speaking it. "Well?" he prompted me.

"Mandarin Chinese," I blurted out.

"Why that?" He asked.

"Well... It's one of the world's most popular languages, and I don't already speak it. It could be useful. I guess. To what my new situation will be."

"Ah, quite." He sounded convinced.

"Is it offered?"

"I don't know. That is to say, not right now, but we will have to see. Best run to your next class, you don't want to be late." I took his advice.

The next morning at breakfast I was handed a new timetable. I looked at it, and the language spot had been changed from French to Mandarin, as per my request. Though new and still trying to figure this place out, the choice of any language and the suddenness of my request being met I found a little odd. Never the less, at the appointed time I made my way to the room on the schedule and entered.

There was only one other person in the room. It was man, younger than most of the teachers here, though it was hard to judge but he didn't look any older than 35. He was Chinese, I thought, thick black hair that looked rather in need of a haircut, a round, kindly looking face and the thickest glasses I'd ever seen. He was sitting cross-legged on the teacher's desk smoking and tapping away at his mobile phone held inches from his face, but he looked up the moment I entered.

"Kassandra!" he greeted me. "Please, take a seat." He gestured to the desk directly in front of his. His voice was gentle and his accent hard to place, but he didn't sound Chinese. I made my way to the seat but he was distracted by his phone again. "Fuck!" he began swiping madly on the screen of his phone.

"What's wrong?" I asked out of impulse as I sat down at the seat he'd indicated.

"Some fucking mother-fucker trying to fuck me up the fucking ass."

"Oh, well I don't recommend that, based on recent experience." He looked at me, blinked, and then burst out laughing. His laugh quickly turned into a wheeze and then he started coughing.

"No.... Ah... no..." he said between laughs. "I'm not--" the laughter took over again and he managed to compose himself. "No, love, this fucking game," he flashed his phone at me. "War strategy game, this mother fucker tried to come at me from behind. Heh. They though they could catch me off guard, but not me. I too good for that. Just a moment. I'm going to burn this shithead to the ground." He put the remnants of his cigarette out in an ashtray next to him, went back to his phone and I waited. "There, that taught them," he said, lowering his phone.

"Are... Are you the teacher?" I felt stupid asking, but he wasn't like any teacher I'd met so far.

"Teacher? Me? No."

"Okay..." I waited for him to explain but he didn't. "Sorry, but I thought--"

"Oh, right, you're here to learn Chinese!"

"Yes."

"Yes, I'm here to teach you. They don't have a teacher, they said you wanted to learn and I said hey, I'm Chinese, I'll teach her. And here I am!"

"Okay Mr... sorry, I don't know--" he waved me off.

"David. None of that Mr shit. Or you know, you could just call me God." He shrugged, gave a little chuckle and looked at his hands shyly. "People do, you know."

"Oh, really?" Who the hell was this guy? Or, rather, who did he think he was?

"Yup. Because, you know, we're kinda similar. Depending on who your God is, that is. I'm the terrifying vengeful one, just so you know." He gave a shy sort of chuckle and shrugged in a rather modest way for someone who had just claimed to be kinda similar to God. "Omniscient. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. You know. All that. But none of that turn the other cheek new testament shit. But yeah, people call me God." Here his phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen, whatever it was seemed to capture his interest and he turned his attention back to his phone again, a small smile spreading across his face. The diversion spared me coming up with a response to his belief about his God-like powers, but then the silence became a little awkward.

"Game again?" I ventured.

"Nah. Girl. Isn't she beautiful?" He turned his phone around to show me a photo of a young woman. The photo was in a message thread, but I couldn't read the text. It was Latin characters, not Chinese, but there were a lot of diacritics and I didn't recognise the language.

"What language is that?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"Vietnamese," he said "she says 'Uncle, next time you are here let me know, I have an apartment you can stay in.' Do I ask if she will be in the apartment too?"

"Um, I don't know? Why?" When he'd said it was a girl that distracted him I'd thought he'd meant like one he was interested in, not his niece.

"Because maybe next time I'm in Vietnam, I'll fuck her," He nodded at her picture. What the...?

"You want... that's your niece...?" David burst out laughing.

"No!" he said.

"But she called you uncle?"

"As a term of respect, because I am wise, see? Some call me God, she calls me uncle."

"Uh-huh..." I said. He chuckled.

"She a bit crazy though, but she is just the cutest thing ever." I didn't comment here. I was still making the mental gymnastics to follow this bizarre conversation.

He began scrolling through his phone again.

"What do you think of her?" He showed me a photo of a different woman sitting at the steering wheel of a car. The picture was taken from outside the car, and window was down but it didn't look like she was really posing for the camera. "She was my Uber driver this morning," David said. "Isn't she cute?" here he paused and and appeared to expect an answer.

"Well, um... I mean, not my type..."

"Think I should fuck her?" I shifted uncomfortably, but he still waited for an answer.

"I think you should ask her, not me," I replied.

"Oh, she'd say yes. Woman always do."

"Uh huh." I tried not to look at the smug look on his face.

"If they haven't begged me to fuck them already." He shrugged. "Anyway, you enjoying The Academy?" What the fuck?

"For someone who claims to be omniscient, you have no idea what goes on here, do you?"

"I--I... no, I know exactly what goes on here!" he protested.

"Then why even ask? You don't know shit!" Discipline at The Academy, from what I had seen, was very strict. Bare bottomed spankings in class for the smallest transgressions were common. I don't know what it was that encouraged me to speak to him in such a disrespectful way, but our conversation so far had been like no conversation I had shared with any other teacher. He shifted position, uncrossing his legs to dangle over the front of his desk and leaned back on his hands.

"Kassandra May March. Age 18, turning 19 in about five weeks." He listed my parents names. My step-mother and her children. He told me about the convent school I was sent to. Told me what subjects I took. How I'd done on my A-Levels. Who my friends had been. What languages I spoke. I sat, gob-smacked, at the sheer level of detail he knew. Then he began detailing my time at The Academy. He told me how the Headmaster had restrained me on his desk. He laughed suddenly and added "he wanted to fuck you, but he had to make do with the shitty hole."

"That's not funny." I said quietly. I didn't feel so good right now.

"It is," he insisted. "But I guess you didn't enjoy being fucked in the wrong hole. I wouldn't either. But he was so desperate he had to make do with that. Kinda sad for him too, right?"

"Oh, he's not irresistible like you, he can't get any woman he wants, is that it?"

"Heh. Even If I couldn't get any pussy, I'd take my left hand over the wrong hole. Hell, I'd take my right hand over that. I'd take--"

"Okay, we've ascertained you don't like anal. Anything else you'd like to share?"

"I'm David. I'm 32. I like to work hard, and play hard. I like long walks on the beach. I love to travel." He said this in a funny sort of voice, clearly mocking the adds you see for online dating profiles. It was kinda funny, but I tried to hide the brief smile which flashed across my face. I was still pissed with him.

"So, back to my question. Why ask?"

"Why you choose Chinese?" he asked. "Any language you can choose?"

"I asked fir-- hang on. If The Academy knew about the languages I speak, why did they put me in French class and then act surprised I spoke it?" David chuckled.

"Not everyone at The Academy is God. Just me." He grinned.

"No." I frowned and thought it through. They knew about me. Intimate details. Even looking cynically at it, and considering they only bothered to find out the things which added value to me as a sex slave, the languages I spoke were part of that. And as for David, what did he care about WHY I'd chosen -- "It was a test!" I blurted out.

"Heh," David gave a smug little smile, but I was sure I was right. "So, why?" he asked again. "And the truth, not what you told Mr Mercier, which you've confirmed to me was a lie."

"I didn't." I said.

"You don't enjoy it here, do you?"

"Of course I don't you fucking--"

"But you have behaved remarkably well. Since your little performance on your first day where you put up barely a struggle. And choosing a language which will make you a more marketable slut?"

"Oh." So that's why he asked if I was enjoying it. He didn't think I was, he was just showing that my story didn't add up.

"Oh." He confirmed.

"I... well... I'm just keeping my head down. Avoiding punishment as much as I can. Until I can suss things out."

"Thoughts of escaping?" he asked.

"Of course." There was no point hiding it. They wouldn't put extra security on me just because I admitted it, and surely they'd expect me to at least think about trying.

"And the Chinese?"

"Well," I shrugged. May as well go with the truth. "A challenge."

"Good girl. You like a challenge, love?"

"Well... To distract me from... well..."

"Getting fucked in the the wrong hole."

"David, please don't go back to that," I pleaded. He slipped of the desk and stood in front of me.

"You shouldn't call me David," he said. Well, he'd asked me too!

"God?" I couldn't keep the mocking tone out of my voice.

"That is my preference, but I suppose lǎo shī is more appropriate. That means teacher."

And so begun the actual lesson.