EllaFord
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2016
- Posts
- 184
I glance into the sleeping room, hours after the welcoming ceremony had ended, checking up on my charges as I do every year at this time.
I am greeted by the sound of quiet snoring, of light breathing. The very air itself is thick with the sweet-sour scent of wine and perfume. Not a single girl is still awake, not a single one is moving. Hardly surprising after the night of song and dance that they had enjoyed, a night of individual expression and glorious celebration.
And who could blame them? The welcoming ceremony was their last chance to be themselves, to express the individuality that defined each of them one final time. It is rare indeed to find a girl that doesn't relish the opportunity and embrace it wholeheartedly.
I cross my arms and sigh, captivated, as I always am, by their beauty, by their youthful innocence. Had their chests not been visibly rising and falling with the shallow cadence of sleep, I might have thought them dolls. Each one different, no two girls the same. I shake my head and sigh again, overcome with a sudden melancholy.
Tomorrow, their training will begin. Each girl will be stripped of that defining spark, that beguiling uniqueness. She will be dressed like the other, when she is even permitted to wear clothes, she will be styled identically to her fellow students. Her personality will be broken down through repetition and reinforcement, rebuilding her from the ground up, teaching her new instincts, installing into her a new personality, one that better suits the peculiar fate that each of these girls shares. She will be taught the physical arts, how to please another, how to entice and seduce, how to surrender and submit. She will come to know her fellow students as lovers and sisters, perfecting her craft on the others, learning together with them until the female body becomes her natural territory and the sensual provocation of it is her sworn destiny.
But that is tomorrow. For now, they know only peace.
I frown, feeling suddenly wistful. Not all of them will make it, I think to myself. Not all of them will take to the exhausting demands of total obedience, the myriad pains and pleasures their bodies will be made to endure, and later crave. It is not for everyone this life, and the realization will be heartbreaking for those that have to learn this about themselves. Not for the first time, I try to discern which of this intake would fail. The cheerleader? The class president? The scholar? I know from experience that such speculation is futile. It is never the one you expect.
A girl in the center of the room stirs softly, rolling over and burying her head into the shoulder of the girl beside her, smiling contentedly as if lost in a pleasant dream. She is golden haired and angelic, someone's daughter in another life, someone's lover, perhaps? Does she dream of that life now lost, of days gone and memories cherished? Or does she dream of the life yet to come? Does she dream of where she might find herself when she finally leaves this academy of mine? Does she dream of blank capitulation and eager submission, the bitter sting of punishment or the sweet thrill of reward?
I can't know, I don't want to know.
In all my years running this very special school, I never cease to be amazed by how many women have the wealth and desire to take that most forbidden of steps, how many were willing to risk everything to own another person, in body and in mind. Older women, women of experience and curiosity, women who posses needs and desires that step outside the sphere of conventional relationships. Among these women, appetite for girls like this is unfathomable, its reach limitless.
But for all the mind-boggling scale of this market in human flesh of which I am both facilitator and enabler, there is something yet more surprising about it. And that is how many girls exist to feed that demand, girls like the pristine beauties I gaze upon now. Girls who wish to cast off the heavy cloak of expectation and responsibility that society demands they endure, to sell themselves into voluntary slavery, giving themselves to another woman as a toy or a plaything, submitting to her whims and rejecting the very notion of self determination. It is this asymmetry that I exploit and revere, fulfilling both sides of a natural equation.
With a satisfied sigh, I slowly close the door to the sleeping room, allowing these exquisite wonders their final night of peace and the fading gift of privacy.
There will always be more girls to gaze upon.