Synopsis:

JoEllen Hunter has been placed in a bizarre reform school, where incorrigible delinquent boys are transformed into feminized domestic servants. But there is a dark secret at the heart of The Academy. As an undercover agent of America's most covert agency, JoEllen's mission is to discover that secret.
Meanwhile, just what is Diana Hunter up to?

Story:

The Academy
By
Valentina Michelle Smith
(part 2)

At precisely 4:00 A.M., everybody in the dormitory awoke.

There was no need for an alarm or any type of wake-up call. Everybody received a nudge from the governor implanted behind their ear. The nudge was not as intense for veteran students, just a brief kiss of discomfort to rouse them from their sleep. With routine efficiency they went about their morning rituals, showering, cleaning up, making their beds, and dressing for the day’s activities.

For new students the experience was not routine. A sharp bolt of pain flashed for a few milliseconds, sufficiently painful to rouse them from the soundest of sleep, but not so intense as to be debilitating. They awoke to the strident urging of several Mistresses.
“Get up, ladies! Get your lazy asses out of bed! You have a lot to do today. Get into the showers now.”

There was no respite in the showers. A Mistress was present to instruct the “girls” on shaving their legs and armpits. “Your legs and underarms will be cleanly shaven every day. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” they answered.

Hesitance of any sort was immediately punished by an application of the riding crop. The students completed their showers and dried themselves. They were instructed to wrap a towel around themselves just below their armpits, and to wrap a second towel around their hair turban-style. Despite their universal flat-chested appearance, they were to behave as ladies at all times and maintain a standard of modesty.

Yesterday’s underwear went into their laundry bags. They donned fresh underwear, stockings, slips, and their school uniforms. Beds were made and the dormitory was cleaned, all under the constant harassment of the Mistresses. Finally each student stood at the foot of his respective bed, dressed in the pleated skirt, blouse, and pumps that constituted The Academy uniform.

A Mistress addressed them.

“Ladies, you are a sorry sight. Look at you, all decked out in your skirts and heels, but not a bit of lipstick or foundation. And look at your hair! You are the sorriest excuse for girls I have ever had the displeasure to see. We are about to fix that.

“Carol and Janelle, step forward!”

The two boys now named Carol and Janelle stepped up, answering “Yes, Mistress,” in unison.

“Go to the storage closet and get the box marked ‘Wigs.’”

“Yes, Mistress,” they answered, and they dashed off to obey. They returned with the box.

“Very good, girls,” the Mistress answered. “Each of you will take a wig. You will now wear this wig at all times except when sleeping, showering, or during physical training. You will keep your wig clean and groomed at all times. It will be your hair for the next six months. By that time your natural hair should be long enough to style properly. Understood?”

“Yes, Mistress,” they answered. Each student took a wig from the box. Each was packaged in an individual box on a styrofoam head form. The wigs were all blond, styled in a short bob that came to the neckline, and had a wide white headband. This band secured the wig to the wearer’s head.

Each student was now wearing his wig. As they stood at the foot of their bed, the Mistress reflected on just how effectively the indoctrination was proceeding. With the blond wigs in place the boys now all appeared to be teenage girls, each one in a schoolgirl’s uniform. Only one thing remained for the final vestige of individuality to be stripped away.

“Now that is much better,” she said. “You’re starting to resemble ladies. But we are not finished. Everybody form up outside, now!”

The girls (as they were beginning to think of themselves) rushed out of the dormitory, nearly tripping on their heels. A few who did not display the proper sense of urgency found themselves on the wrong side of a “nudge” from a Mistress’ riding crop. Now standing in line outside, they lined themselves up by size with the shortest girl in front. The Mistress who appeared to be in charge addressed them.

“Ladies, we will now proceed to the beauty supply store. You will be issued a make-up kit. It will be your responsibility to maintain this kit at all times. You will replenish it from the beauty supply store whenever you run out of any item.

“Once you have your kit you will be shown how to apply make-up. From that time forward you will never appear outside without makeup. You will always carry lipstick and powder to repair your makeup throughout the day. This will be carried in your purse, which you will also receive today. You will never be without your purse unless instructed to leave it by a Mistress. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress,” the girls answered.

“Come with me, ladies,” the Mistress ordered. They walked in single file to the beauty supply store, where they received a make-up case and a purse. They were then seated at a vanity table where a Mistress instructed them in the application of make-up. This session was notable for its total lack of punishment. The girls would associate make-up with an absence of pain.

JoEllen moved with this body of students. She did her best to appear unfamiliar with foundation, blush, and lipstick. As she applied her make-up under the impatient supervision of a Mistress, she reflected on the events leading to her presence at The Academy.

* * * * *

The black limousine had discharged JoEllen inside the headquarters building of America’s most covert agency, where she was escorted to Mary Risberg’s office. Mary offered her coffee, which she accepted.

“I was impressed with the way you handled yourself at the funeral, JoEllen,” Risberg said. You acted quickly and decisively. You have the makings of a fine agent.
“I’m curious about something,” she continued, “Just how is it you happened to be carrying Shuriken with you?”

“It’s part of the discipline of Sho Ren Kun Do,” JoEllen answered. “The Shuriken is not really much of a weapon, but it does aid in focusing and coordinating motion. I always have some on hand, mostly for meditation.”

“You don’t have any with you right now.”

“Of course not; I left them in the safe downstairs as per agency protocol. Would you have let me proceed with any sort of weapon on my person?”

“From what I have heard, your person is quite a potent weapon in its own right. Master Wan speaks highly of you.”

“Master Wan is too kind.”

“Don’t assume any false modesty with me, JoEllen, I know your capabilities. If I didn’t we would not be having this conversation.”

JoEllen shifted in her chair. “So this is about recruiting me? You want me to become one of your agents?”

Risberg hesitated. “Yes, but not one of our regular agents.”

JoEllen was puzzled. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“Normally it takes a year of very intensive training to get an agent ready for duty. We need someone for a very special assignment and we do not have much time to bring her up to speed. You are already well trained in martial arts, you can present convincingly as a woman, and if I know Diana you are well trained in firearms. In short, you already possess most of the knowledge you will need for this assignment.”

JoEllen’s curiosity was now piqued. “What assignment are you talking about?”

“How would you like a crack at the people who tried to kill Diana?”

Risberg now had JoEllen’s undivided attention. But her answer surprised Risberg.

“I seek no vengeance,” JoEllen said. “Revenge clouds the mind, and fosters hatred. Revenge consumes the person who seeks it. I turned away from the path of vengeance when Diana adopted me.

“If you want me to go after these people then I will, but not for revenge.”

Risberg looked at JoEllen with a new-found respect. “I’m very impressed. I believe I may have made the right choice after all.”

JoEllen smiled as Mary continued. “We managed to trace one of the three assailants. The results were surprising. It seems that he was in juvenile custody about five years ago. He was doing time for multiple rapes and armed robbery. Because of the rapes we had his DNA on file. He was fifteen when he was imprisoned.”

“So how did he end up trying to assassinate Diana?”

“We’re not certain, but we believe it has to do with the alternative school where he was transferred. There is a brief notation that he is to be transferred to another facility for holding and then to this school, The Academy.”

“What exactly is this place?” JoEllen asked.

“It is supposed to be an experimental alternative facility for incorrigible juveniles. It is the personal project of billionaire Desdemona Raventree. Just what goes on within the campus of The Academy is a secret, but Ms. Raventree seems to have some very powerful political allies protecting her from official scrutiny.

“Juvenile laws prevent disclosure of the identities of boys sent to The Academy. The school claims an impressive success rate, but will not divulge the names of its 'students.'”

“It sounds as if there is something else concerning you, Mary.”

“There is. We can’t establish the identities of the other two assailants. Fingerprints, DNA, dental records; we cannot find a match. It was only a fluke that we discovered the identity of the third assassin. And we have discovered something else that is disturbing. It seems that there are boys disappearing from the juvenile justice system. We can’t prove it, but somebody is systematically removing teenage boys from the system. We suspect that they are somehow being funneled into The Academy.”

“And you think that they are somehow being used as assassins?” JoEllen asked.

“We're not certain just what Raventree's purposes might be, but something doesn't smell right. This assassination attempt on Diana and yourself is just too much of a coincidence. We need to find out just what is going on inside The Academy. We need human intelligence.

“Your mission will be a simple one of infiltration and intelligence. We're giving you a cover identity that fits the profile of the boys being diverted; an orphan convicted of violent offenses, incorrigible, sent to a maximum security juvenile facility. Hopefully Raventree's people will take the bait. Once you are inside, you will be on your own. You will have to survive as best as you can, gather as much intel as you can, and find a way to get it back to us. Once you contact us we'll arrange extraction, but we need the intel before we can proceed.”

Mary paused. “I know this is asking a lot of you, JoEllen. If you turn us down, I would understand.”

JoEllen didn't hesitate a second. “When do I start?”

Risberg smiled. “Immediately; you have to immerse yourself in your cover identity to create an effective male persona. I hope you haven't forgotten how to be a boy.”

“I'm a quick study,” JoEllen replied.

“Excellent. Let's get you down to the seamstress and get you into something a lot less feminine. Your new life as a boy begins now.”

* * * * *

The first few weeks of life at The Academy were textbook examples of behavior modification, not unlike military training. Unacceptable behavior was punished immediately, and acceptable behavior was rewarded with an absence of punishment. It did not take long for the girls to begin to take pride in any behavior that did not merit application of the riding crop.

Life settled into a routine. Morning showers were followed by cleanup and breakfast. Cooking and serving breakfast was part of the training, as was cleaning the dining room and dormitory. All of the girls took turns at each domestic task, whether it was dusting, laundry, or maid duties for the mistresses. They were taught to sew and practiced by making new uniforms for themselves. They were taught to walk, talk, and behave as females. They were taught to serve high tea, again to the mistresses. They were taught to be perfect domestics.

Their training included more than the simple duties of maids. Each day they underwent intense physical conditioning, rising to the level of Navy Seals. They were taught personal combat with and without weapons. They were taught to observe and remember without drawing attention to themselves. They learned how to poison, to counterfeit, to forge, and to burgle.

But most important, they were taught to obey the mistresses without question. Any deviation from perfect obedience was punished severely.

After six months they were taught to style their own hair, now long enough to be feminine. They practiced on each other and in the process became skilled hairdressers and cosmetologists. Their actions became so conditioned that they acted without thinking, affecting the grace of one born female and trained in the finest finishing school.

JoEllen endured. As harsh as the training was, she had already suffered worse on the streets. She became a model student, mastering all tasks presented to her. She became the leader in her class, always encouraging the other girls to do better.

There were other changes, initially so subtle that they went unnoticed in the everyday rush of training, but the girls were becoming physically more female. Their breasts began to swell and their male genitalia began to shrink, a direct result of the hormones administered daily. But rather than being frightened of their physical changes, the girls were delighted as their outward changes coincided with less frequent punishment. Their brassieres now bulged with their own flesh, and they were proud.

JoEllen could not ignore the changes her body was showing. She outwardly displayed the same sort of girlish delight her classmates were showing; inside she noted the changes and added them to her intelligence data. At night, in bed, she used the meditation techniques Master Wan had taught her to remain centered and focused on her mission. She observed and remembered all she saw. And she knew that there was more to The Academy than a perverse forced feminization.

JoEllen was herself the subject of intense scrutiny. By excelling at every task and displaying leadership qualities, it was inevitable that she would draw attention. Desdemona Raventree was especially interested in Jessica's progress, for that was the name JoEllen had been assigned. Desdemona had the mistresses give Jessica challenges beyond those normally assigned. Jessica met every one and exceeded all expectations.

* * * * *

The office door, located on the top floor of a new office building in a new suburban business campus, read “International Holdings, LLC.” The building was pleasing without being ostentatious. At five stories it was the tallest structure in the campus. It's design reflected a love of nature. The central atrium extended to a tempered glass ceiling, allowing sufficient sunlight for the indoor plants to thrive. It was, according to all tenants, a very pleasant place to work.

Unknown to most tenants, International Holdings was a front corporation for Diana Hunter. It served as a focal point for Diana's current operations. Just what these operations entailed was a closely guarded secret, even to America's most covert secret agency. In fact, just about all that Margo Lane knew of the place was that she stood more than an even chance of finding her old friend there.

The receptionist checked Margo's credentials against her database. She was admitted to the inner suite of offices where she was greeted by Diana's personal assistant, Mrs. Hathaway, the only Executive Assistant who rated a private office.

“Hello, Agent Lane,” said Mrs. Hathaway in her very cheerful voice. There was a soothing, maternal quality to Mrs. Hathaway, reinforced by the many pictures of her children and grandchildren displayed lovingly on her desk. “Can I get you something? A cup of coffee, perhaps?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hathaway, I'm fine,” Margo said. “Could I Please see Diana?”

“Of course, she's expecting you. Please go in.” Mrs. Hathaway indicated a door just beyond her desk. Margo entered.

The office was neither large nor small and was decorated in a tasteful, understated business fashion. It was totally unremarkable except for the dozen or so flat-screen monitors occupying a horseshoe-shaped desk and a two-bay rack of electronic gear against one wall. At the center of the desk sat Diana, who stood to greet her old friend.

“Welcome to my playpen,” Diana said as she grasped Margo's hand. “So what do you think of it?”

“I didn't know what to expect, Diana, and now that I see it I still don't know what to make of it. Just what on earth are you doing?”

Diana smiled. “I'm getting back to my geeky roots, I suppose. Margo, I want you to meet my latest project, Cassandra.” She pointed to the electronics bay against the wall.

“Very nice,” said Margo, not at all comprehending what she was seeing. “And just what on earth is Cassandra supposed to be?”

“Cassandra is my own personal implementation of a Beowulf-style supercomputer. What you see is a thirty-two node AMD Opteron cluster with sixty-four processors and a twin AMD front end. Each node is running Linux and shares a common file system.”

“Well that certainly clears up any confusion I might have had,” replied Margo with considerable sarcasm.

Diana laughed. “I'm sorry, Margo, sometimes I forget that everybody isn't a natural born geek. Cassandra is simply a cheap and dirty supercomputer assembled from off-the-shelf components and open-source software.”

“Just what everybody needs. I bet you can play a hell of a computer game on that baby.”

“I probably could. I intend to do some rather fancy financial and scientific modeling on it. Once I get it tweaked I'm going to build several for the Ellis sisters to use. Something like this could really help their biotechnology modeling work. And if it isn't powerful enough I can just add a few more nodes.”

“So is that what you're doing here, Diana, building new molecules in cyberspace?”

“Not exactly. I'm testing it with a data-mining project. I need this type of horsepower for what I have in mind.”

“And just what would that be?”

Diana smiled as she looked at her old friend. “You know, I could use a break. Care to join me out on the balcony?”

“Do you think that's safe?” Margo asked.

“I think so. Nobody knows I'm here except for you and Mrs. Hathaway. Everyone else thinks this is just an investment bank.”

“And nobody sees you coming here every day?”

“Not really. A black limo departs from my home every day and heads for The Hunter Group's corporate headquarters. Nobody pays any attention to the milk truck making its morning delivery, or to the FedEx truck dropping off packages at night. Can I pour you a drink?”

Margo saw the bottle that Diana had produced from a sideboard; single-malt Scotch, aged for more than half a century. “I really shouldn't while I'm on duty, Diana.”

“You're not on duty, you're visiting a friend from the old neighborhood.”

“All right, then, but just one.”

Diana filled a crystal glass to about three fingers, then poured one for herself. “Come on out to the balcony, I have something else you might enjoy.”

The balcony opened to a view of the business campus. The buildings were separated by a lot of open space and were surrounded by woodland. Margo and Diana sat on a pair of comfortable chairs and sipped their drinks. That was when Diana put hers down and opened a wooden box. She passed the box to Margo.

It was a cigar humidor.

“I know it's not very ladylike,” said Diana, “but I always enjoyed a good Puro. These are pre-Castro Havanas. You were rather fond of them yourself back in the old neighborhood.”

“That was before I joined the agency. I haven't had a cigar in years.”

“Care to join me?” Diana asked.

Margo hesitated, then picked one out and handed the box to Diana. Diana passed her a cutter and then flicked a gold lighter. Margo rotated the cigar as she lit it. She took a long puff and exhaled as Diana lit up. “Wow!” she said as she admired the long smoldering cylinder, “it's been a long time.”

“I don't really smoke that often,” Diana said, sending clouds of blue smoke into the air. “Maybe once or twice a month, if that.”

Margo drew on her cigar and blew a lazy smoke ring. “Now if only I were Gandalf, I could blow a smoke schooner and sail it through the ring.”

“Well don't look at me for such tricks,” said Diana. “I'm a geek, not a sorcerer.”

“Speaking of geeks, Diana, let's get back to that rack of electronics in your office. Just what are you doing with all of that computing power?”

Diana took a long puff and blew out the smoke in a lazy, contemplative stream. “I'm testing out the parallel computing algorithms by mining the system logs of the Hunter Group's servers. I'm looking for something in particular.”

“And what would that be?”

Diana paused. “Margo, there's a mole somewhere in my organization. I intend to find just who that mole is.”

“What makes you think there's a mole in your company?” asked Margo, intrigued by Diana's answer.

“The attempt on my life was a dead giveaway. Only somebody with access to my most secure files would have known that I was going to be at Wildwood Cemetery that day. Whoever planned that hit knew in advance that I would be there, and the time I would be there. I'm analyzing server activity and message traffic to see if I can find this mole's electronic footprints.”

“And what will you do when you find this person, Diana?” Margo asked.

Diana was silent for a moment. “I know what I would like to do,” she said, “but I won't. No, I'll just turn the creep over to you gals for interrogation. Whoever this is might be a good source of intelligence.”

“I'm relieved to hear that, Diana,” Margo said. “For a minute I thought you were going back to your old ways.”

Diana laughed. “No, those days are long gone. I've worked hard to get the hate out of my soul. Vengeance was never all that sweet anyway. And you can let Mary know that I'm not going to be executing anybody.”

Margo smiled and took a sip of the Scotch. “You know I have to report this, Diana.”

“Of course you do, and I know you will. Just be sure to spell my name right, and you don't have to tell Risberg about the Scotch and cigars.”

“If I did, she might drop by to get some for herself.”

The two of them laughed. Then Diana said to Margo, “So let's change subjects. How is JoEllen doing in your little sorority?”

Margo frowned. “Diana, you know that I can neither confirm nor deny that I have any knowledge of JoEllen.”

Diana smiled and took another puff from her cigar. “Margo, this is me, Diana, you're talking to. I know that JoEllen's on a mission and I don't need any specifics. I just want to know if she's all right.”

Margo paused. “I'm sorry, Diana, but I really can't tell you.”

“You can't, or you won't?”

“I can't, Diana, because I honestly do not know.”

Margo hesitated for a few heartbeats, as though she were considering what to say next. “You're right, JoEllen is on an assignment. She's under very deep cover and right now we have no way of contacting her. That's all I can tell you, Diana, and I really don't know if I should have told you anything at all.”

Diana took a sip from her drink. “Thanks, Margo. You know how I worry about her. JoEllen might be an adult, but I always think of her as the kid we rescued.”

Margo grinned at the memory of the case where she and Diana broke up an Internet live kiddie porn racket. JoEllen had been one of the unfortunate victims. “That was some caper, wasn't it?”

“Yes indeed, one I'll always remember fondly. It was nice to be one of the good guys.”

They sipped their drinks and puffed their cigars, and the two friends shared memories of their past.

* * * * *

JoEllen's class was given a task normally reserved for senior students. They would serve High Tea to the Mistresses.

Serving High Tea was part of their training, and they had practiced to the point where they could probably do so in their sleep. But practicing and actually serving were two very different scenarios.

Desdemona Raventree knew that she was pushing this class past their normal level of expectations. She knew that the girls would be nervous and undoubtedly make mistakes. She was counting on just that.

As Desdemona expected, the High Tea started to turn into a disaster. The girls were nervous, shaking as they went about the duties of setting out food and pouring tea for the mistresses. Each little spill, each misplaced napkin, each crumbled cookie increased their apprehension, and they fully expected to be soundly punished.

But the disaster never happened. The tea may have suffered from some early mistakes, but the girls quickly rallied and set themselves to serving the mistresses without flaw. Desdemona observed the interaction of the students. Clearly, one of the students emerged as a leader. She urged the girls on, encouraging them to ignore their mistakes and concentrate on getting everything right. Inspired by her example, the rest of the students quickly fell in line and served perfectly.

Desdemona's suspicions were confirmed. Jessica had qualities that The Academy could use.

* * * * *

Asleep in her bunk, JoEllen did not expect the gentle nudge on her shoulder. She awoke to darkness, and the face of an old friend, Diana Hunter.

Diana held a finger to her lip. “Keep it low, kiddo, I don't think anyone can hear us, but let's not take any chances.”

“Diana?” sad JoEllen, clearly puzzled, “how did you get in here? And for that matter, how did you know I was here in the first place.”

“To answer your second question, I have resources at my disposal that Risberg doesn't know exist. And as for the first, let's just say that there isn't a lock on earth that I can't open.”

JoEllen sat up. “What about my roommates? And what about the monitors?”

“Monitors are easy to defeat, kiddo. All you have to do is feed them what they expect to see.” Diana held up a small aluminum box with a stubby antenna. Obviously it was a sophisticated jamming device of some sort. “And your roommates are all sound asleep courtesy of Gas.”

“Diana, you could blow my cover just by being here. Do you have any idea what I'm doing?”

“Of course I do, and I couldn't be more proud. I just wanted to give you a little something you may need when the balloon goes up.” She produced a tiny capsule.

“What do you want me to do with that?” asked JoEllen.

“Swallow it. It's a special transponder that will attach to the wall of your small intestine. It can't be detected by any medical imaging technology.”

“What is it for?”

“It will remain dormant until you speak the proper code phrase. Then it will send out a special distress signal. I've formed a task force that will monitor that signal. As soon as we get it, we come in and extract you.”

“Diana, do you realize how dangerous this stunt of yours could be? If I slip up and talk, they'll kill me, and probably take their time doing it.”

“You won't talk, kiddo. You won't even remember I'm here, because I'm going to give you the code name as a post-hypnotic suggestion. Once we extract you, your memory will return. But for now, you're going to go to sleep.” Diana held up the Gas spray.

JoEllen grinned. “Not a bad plan,” she said to herself. She swallowed the capsule. She felt the cold, wet spray on her cheek. Then she felt nothing.

Diana instructed JoEllen to remember nothing of her visit this evening until events triggered her memories. Then she would repeat the code phrase Diana gave her. As JoEllen lay down to sleep, Diana gave her a little kiss. “I love you, JoEllen,” she said.

“I love you, Diana,” JoEllen answered. She was then lost to oblivion, her memory effectively conditioned by the powerful psychoactive drug that the agency called Gas. Diana left the grounds of the Academy undetected.

* * * * *

Desdemona sat behind the ornate desk in her spacious office. The desk, as well as the other accouterments of her office, was designed to overwhelm and intimidate those invited in. Judging by the nervousness of Jessica's demeanor, it had succeeded.

Students were rarely invited into Mistress Desdemona's inner sanctum. As far as JoEllen knew, it had not occurred since she had come to The Academy. There was doubtless a good deal of speculation when she was summoned to the Headmistress' office.

JoEllen remained calm, observing and remembering as she remained centered. Outwardly, she projected an air of apprehension. Jessica needed to appear nervous, but still obedient to the will of the mistresses.

Desdemona smiled, observing Jessica's apparent discomfort. “Jessica, dear, do you know why you are here?” she said.

“No, Mistress,” JoEllen replied. “I hope I haven't broken any rules.”

“Not at all, my dear. You are here because you are an exceptional student. You have talent. I could use that sort of talent. Please, sit down,” Desdemona said, indicating a chair.

JoEllen looked at the chair nervously. Was this a test? “Mistress?” she asked.

“Don't be nervous, Jessica. I guarantee you will not be punished as long as we are in this room together. Here, let me show you.”

Desdemona placed her riding crop on a wall hook next to her desk, well out of reach. “There, you see? I could not possibly use the crop. Now please sit and be comfortable, and you may speak freely.”

“Mistress,” said JoEllen as she sat, “I don't understand?”

“Of course not, dear, but all will son be clear to you. Would you like a drink; sherry, perhaps?”

“I don't...yes, I think I would like a sherry.”

Desdemona poured two small glasses of sherry and gave one to JoEllen. As she raised her glass she said, “The Academy!”

“The Academy!” JoEllen echoed and drained her glass. She focused on the taste and texture of the drink and, noting no unusual effects, concluded that it was not drugged.
Desdemona refilled their glasses and sat down next to JoEllen. “Now, Jessica, we need to discuss a little business. First, do you know what we do here at The Academy?”

JoEllen responded with the answer that had been drilled into her. “We come to The Academy to bury our past. We come to The Academy to change our behavior. We leave The Academy to serve.”

“And who do we serve?”

“We serve The Academy.”

“Very good, Jessica. But do you know just how you will serve?”

“Mistress?” she said, unprepared for the question. “I don't understand?”

Desdemona smiled. “Jessica, my dear, graduates of The Academy are highly skilled domestic servants. We take the most incorrigible of delinquent boys, such as you were, and mold them into perfect domestics. Our graduates work in the finest of households, the seats of power and influence. Academy graduates are placed in the households of industrial and financial giants, and in the homes of powerful ministers of state, politicians, and judges. They serve efficiently and silently, without drawing attention to themselves. Do you see what an advantage this can provide, Jessica?”

JoEllen paused, as though realizing something for the first time. “Servants of the movers and shakers, privy to confidential affairs of state and business. It could make an effective spy network.”

“I had a feeling you were more intelligent than our average student, Jessica. You have intelligence and leadership abilities. That is why I am inviting you to join our inner circle. Jessica, how would you like to become a Mistress?”

“Mistress. I...” JoEllen was genuinely surprised, and took a sip of sherry. “But I thought all of the mistresses were women?”

“We are, Jessica, and you shall be as well. Let me explain.”

Desdemona stood and refilled her glass. “You see, Jessica, The Academy is much more than a reform school. It is the instrument by which I intend to achieve world domination.

“My goal is quite simple, really. Men have made a total mess of this world. It is time for women to take over and assume their rightful position of domination.

“Jessica, have you ever wondered why women have been relegated to an inferior position in our society? It is because men fear us. Men, you see, are slaves to their sexual impulses. Men simply cannot overcome their base desires as women can. An intelligent woman could easily dominate any man simply by understanding his uncontrollable addiction to sex.

“So men have designed a society in which women are forced to be inferior. Opportunities for education, advancement, and true power are never permitted. Cautionary tales such as Eve and the apple are made part of a youngster's indoctrination. As a result, women never achieve their true potential, and men remain in power, destroying our planet and killing each other with their petty wars and business squabbles.

“I intend to change all of that. I have a plan to shift the balance of power to the truly superior sex. And The Academy is part of it.

“I am assembling an army of the perfect intelligence agents. They are all fiercely loyal to The Academy and will follow orders blindly. By infiltrating them into the homes of the rich and powerful, I have an army ready to rise up and seize power.”

“Forgive me for interrupting,” JoEllen said, “but won't this army cause some of the same things for which you condemn men? The bloodshed would be enormous.”

“You are a very clever girl, my dear, and you are correct. If I had to rely on force of arms, I would be just as bad as the men currently in power. That is why I have a second and more powerful army at my disposal, an army of women.

“I have recruited a select group of women, the Mistresses, to be my main force. We will use our feminine attributes, beauty, and sensuality, to infiltrate the world of men from a direction they least suspect, as trophy wives for the rich and powerful. We shall ensnare them in a trap of their own making, exploiting their weakness to resist seduction. We will use our charms to negotiate extremely favorable terms to any pre-nuptial agreements we may be forced to enter into. And, when the time is right, we will seize control of the husband's empire by simply eliminating him. Then we take control, a bereaved widow wanting only to keep her departed husband's legacy alive.”

Desdemona turned to JoEllen. “I offer you, Jessica, the opportunity to join us. We will train you in the arts of seduction and domination, while you will also learn the skills of business and politics. You will be in the vanguard of the new world order. And when the time is ripe, you shall assume your destiny as part of the elite, the ruling class.”

Desdemona paused for a moment. “So what do you say, Jessica?”

“I am flattered, but there is still something I don't understand. The new world order is one in which women dominate. I'm a man, at least biologically. How can I be a part of this?”

Desdemona smiled again. “Your class has advanced to the next phase of training, conversion. Jessica, if you join us, we will place your body into a conversion tank where you will be transformed into a woman. This process was created by a brilliant scientist who was destroyed by male society. Fortunately I had copies of her research and was able to duplicate much of it.

“Essentially, your body's estrogen receptors will be enhanced and you will be subjected to massive dosages of female hormones. You will also be genetically reformatted at the cellular level. Your entire body will be regressed to an androgynous state, and then made female. You shall be a fully functional woman in every detail, down to the molecular level. The process will take ten weeks.”

“And if I decline?” asked JoEllen.

Desdemona did not answer directly, but called to the maid who had been waiting patiently in the corner. “Candice, please remove your clothing.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the maid replied, and immediately stripped. She stood naked in front of Desdemona and JoEllen. In every respect she was perfectly female, except for the diminutive penis and scrotum that hung limply from her groin.

“All students will be converted, Jessica, but if you accept my generous offer, you will not suffer this ignominious fate. You will not be constantly reminded of your male past as a warning to obey. No, dear girl, you shall experience the power and the indescribable euphoria of womanhood.

“This is the only time I shall make this offer, Jessica. Join us, or become like Candice. What do you say?”

JoEllen drained her glass. “I'm no fool. I want to join you. Better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven. And when we finally take over, it will certainly be Hell for all men.”

“I had a feeling you would make the smart choice, Jessica. You'll make a fine mistress.

“Candice, please get dressed and inform the staff. We will be welcoming a new mistress this evening. Jessica, please come with me. We have a small ceremony to make this official.”

JoEllen arose and followed Desdemona.

* * * * *

The preparations took very little time. JoEllen was quickly taught the expected responses for the induction ceremony. She now stood in The Academy's ceremonial hall, dressed in the black uniform of a Mistress.

She stood at the far left side of the stage. Desdemona stood on the right. Between the two stood two other Mistresses, each holding their riding crops, as did Desdemona. The Academy's staff was seated in the auditorium.

The lights lowered. The stage was lit only by four candles. Now Desdemona spoke.
“We come to greet a new sister. She has been called to us, and she answers.
“Jessica, why have you come here?”

JoEllen answered, “I come to serve.”

Desdemona asked her, “Who do you serve?”

“I serve The Academy,” she replied.

“Advance,” Desdemona said.

JoEllen walked across the stage toward Desdemona, knowing full well what would happen. And as expected, the first Mistress blocked her way, holding her riding crop. She pointed it toward JoEllen and pressed the stud.

JoEllen's body was wracked with intense, stabbing pain, as though she were being cut with a thousand knives. The pain did not last for long, but it was sufficient to cause JoEllen to stumble.

“Will you follow me through pain?” Desdemona asked.

“I will follow you through pain. My life at your command!”

“Advance!” Desdemona commanded. The mistress stepped aside.

JoEllen continued across the stage, determined not to show the effects of the pain. Again, as she was told would happen, her path was barred. The mistress pointed her riding crop at JoEllen and pressed the stud.

Pain again coursed through JoEllen's body, an extreme, burning pain like being dipped into molten lava. It lasted for only a few milliseconds, but it nearly staggered JoEllen. She struggled to remain on her feet.

“Will you follow me through fire?” Desdemona asked.

“I will follow you through fire. I live for The Academy. I die for The Academy.”

“Advance,” Desdemona repeated. The second mistress stood aside, and JoEllen continued. She now stood next to Desdemona, who brandished another riding crop.

It was JoEllen's.

“Jessica, I bind you to The Academy for all time. Accept your crop, your badge of office, and know the pleasure born of pain.”

JoEllen reached to accept her riding crop. She did not know what to expect as she grasped it. As her hands enclosed around the riding crop, her body was once again suffused with an intense sensation; not pain, pleasure! She felt extreme euphoria bathe over her every nerve ending, and experienced an internal convulsion that rivaled the most intense of orgasms. Unable to resist this overwhelming flood of pleasure, she collapsed at Desdemona's feet, still clutching her riding crop.

Now the audience arose, and every mistress in the hall stood by as JoEllen was helped to her feet. As she recovered, she was embraced by all and welcomed to the inner circle of The Academy. The last to embrace her was Desdemona.

“You now know one of our greatest secrets, Jessica,” Desdemona said. “The transdermal governors are just as capable of creating pleasure as pain. Welcome, sister, and know the joy of serving The Academy.”

JoEllen was unable to speak, still stunned by the intensity of pleasure she had experienced. She said nothing as she was led from the ceremonial hall and placed into the conversion chamber. She felt the intravenous lines as they were inserted into her arms. Then, as a wave of pleasure once again washed over her, the chamber filled with oxygenated fluid. The intense pleasure completely overrode her gag reflex as she took the fluid into her lungs. She was briefly aware of the unique sensation of being totally suspended in liquid warmed to her own body temperature. Then, as the medication took effect, the world faded to oblivion.

(End of Part 2)

 © Valentina Michelle Smith

Notes:

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