Pages from the Nightingales Journal as depicted in the marvelous stories told by @Lady-Sarah-Ines . Art also created by Lady Sarah.)
Preamble: Martina (Tina) Josephine had learned many necessary lessons from her Grandmother. This world rewards cruelty. Empathy is an intolerable defect capable of bringing down those of high stature. It could even topple a family of Daughter’s of Power, such as the House of Josephine. Grandmother wisely instructed Tina to understand that there is a time to endure and a time to indulge and survival depends on knowing the difference. But when submission is coded into your nature, you can only conceal your submissiveness for so long. Grandmother explained in crystal clear terms the fate Tina, and most probably her entire family, would suffer should her peculiar cravings and empathetic spirit be revealed. To defend against such a catastrophe, Tina could never, EVER, seek out a dominant hand to overpower her.
At least not OPENLY. Instead, Tina would have to plant seeds in the minds of unwitting tormentors that she could serve as a victim to their hazing. After all, hazing is not endorsed but is generally overlooked as an informal component of education. And being a victim of hazing is hardly a badge of honor, but it is also nothing that would permanently tarnish a reputation or shame an otherwise noble birthright.
Tina lacked the natural instincts for manipulation of most women of power in her social circles, but Grandmother saw to it that she UNDERSTOOD the concept and it’s application very well. Just as Grandmother advised, Tina would manipulate, as needed, to bring about the embarrassing treatments that her submission desperately craved while maintaining the semblance that she resisted it.
Tina’s journal was the vehicle she would use, and her entries were the fuel to carry the predators right up to the cage where she fluttered about, desperate to sing but still not free to allow anyone to hear her song.
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(Entry 17)
Verena and Seraphine have sprung their trap. I don’t know the student they’ve snagged. They only call her their “doll.” Poor doll. She was led to believe she could elevate herself, a student who achieved her admittance to the academy through MERIT rather than inheritance, by pledging fealty to them.
“I’d do anything Verena?” The Doll smiled.
“Anything at all, little recruit? No matter how cruel a task we assign?” Seraphine giggled.
“Of course. Yes, Seraphine.” The Doll responded enthusiastically.
“She said ‘anything,’ Seraphine,” Verena repeated.
“Yes, Verena, that is what I heard, too. This recruit has made her position perfectly clear.” Seraphine beamed.
I watch from my small alcove hidden in a corner high near the rafters. I can see nearly all of the Great Hall from my perch. I am wrapped in a blanket of anonymity, eager to observe a girl of a lesser family learn about cruelty. Such low hanging fruit, this Doll is!
The two older students use surprise and teamwork and the Recruit is easily subdued and transformed into a helpless Doll to be played with. I am fascinated to observe her pitiful resistance. And I am surprised to find my hand grasping my own wrist tightly as I focus on the bindings trapping the Doll’s hands behind her back. I barely prevent a soft exhale for escaping me that may have revealed my secret observation point. What is this fascination I’m feeling watching the Doll being bent over and violated by the girls like some male?
Oh God, my desire is growing. What does this mean? These students are hardly of the caliber of, for instance, Sophie, from my class. To be done this way at her hands, bound. Exposed. Pierced. For HER to have her way and take what she wanted from me….is that what the Doll is feeling?
These are obviously improper musings. Verena and Seraphine are teaching a girl of a lesser family to know her place and to patiently wait for her time. They enjoy the lesson for cruelty is delightful when it is a temporary condition as opposed to being a vocation when applied as a matter or permanence and for the function or preserving the natural order.
But as the Doll’s tear begin dropping to the floor, over her painful yelps, I hear whispers from forbidden corners in my mind asking me, “What if you were the Doll, little Nightengale? What if Slyvia and Sophie were wearing the devices, thrusting them, filling you with them, controlling you by the hair and leash?
Goodness, such depravity would be a horrific thrill. I do not know how, or if, I could possibly recover. Would I be changed, forever?
The Doll’s degradation continues a long while. I stay and watch every moment, and I thank the fates that I, myself, can rely on the reputation of my sister Isabella who is in the highest levels here as a student, and my family crest, to nullify any predator’s thoughts of treating me to the ordeal I’ve borne witness to. Who would risk retribution from Isabella Josephine, after all?
“Don’t worry little Doll. We save our harshest cruelty for later lessons.” Verena explained, staring down at the used up girl laying bound at her feet.
“You learned your lesson well, Doll. And because you only just barely wept while we fucked you, we won’t leave you like this to be found by the staff, will we Verena?” Asked Seraphine. Verena leaned down over the girl and began fiddling with her wrist bindings.
“No, Seraphine, we won’t leave her exactly like this.” Verena removed only the wrist bindings and stood back up leaving the girl still in a state of challenging restraint. Understanding the intentions of her tormenters, the girl used her now untied hands to blindly grope around, looking for a buckle or a knot she could reach to free herself.
“That’s it little Doll. You might just be able to get yourself the rest of the way free.” Verena and Seraphine strolled toward the side exit of the Great Hall, practically directly beneath my secret space.
“But whether you escape or not, understand that this is a valuable lesson, that you’ve received.”
My heart is racing. Watching the girl writhe and grind against her bondage and mew into her gag is strangely, stimulating, to me….
“And understand that you have many lessons remaining here at the Academy.”
I have to clamp my mouth with my hand to prevent my sounds from escaping. I’m burning inside. I can’t help myself. I’m so fascinated. What must that feel like? What does all of that power feel like? I’m ashamed to even ask these questions, much less to be touching myself while doing so.
And I have no idea why my thoughts keep returning to Sylvia and Sophie. What does that mean??
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Tina had made certain that certain classmates of hers noticed the red leather journal she scrawled in between lessons. Keeping a journal is not the least unusual for students at the Academy, but it is expected that such books would only contain ambitious statements about consolidating influence, furthering family positions and maybe some creative cruelty to me used in classes involving the male subjects. The value of another student’s journal was assumed to be minimal. But that was not true of Tina, which she understood. Something about Tina seemed askew to her peers. And her journal presented an opportunity.
Tina stayed at her locker, pretending to organize it’s contents, right up until the bell sounded. Feigning alarm at the fact that she was now running late, Tina hurriedly slammed the door while turning and rushing off to the next class. The door did not latch, and popped just barely open after she’d turned her back on it. Tina, of course, had adjusted the latch to ensure a hard closure would produce this exact result.
As Tina sped along down the hall, she barely glimpsed Slyvia and Sophie gracefully make their way toward her now unattended and unsecured locker. As Grandmother Josephine had instructed, Tina was very observant. She knew about the two predators watching the Nightengale in her cage.
What Tina did NOT observe was how the camera silently pivoted onto her all of those times she patiently made subtle adjustments to sabotage her locker in preparation of this ruse. And what Tina COULD not have known was that one of the most dominant predators at the Academy was watching her with tremendous interest…