"Madeline?"

Professor Black stood at the front of the classroom, her rubberclad hands fingering her remote control.

"Ms. Madeline, answer the question or face the consequences. What is your purpose?"

Madeline was just one of twenty-eight students in this hellish classroom. Just like every other student, she was wearing a thick black rubber catsuit, skintight and restrictive. Past that, she was also in a sleepsack, arms and legs locked into an inescapable embrace that seemed to tighten and loosen on a whim. It was devious and it constantly teased her with escape.

Madeline squirmed, trying to answer, forgetting the lessons learned by the other students. She was strapped into a chair and desk, much like one found in an old-fashioned classroom. Talking to students was prohibited in class, she learned, so every student was equipped with a heavy black gas mask.

"Insubordination! Unacceptable, Madeline!" Professor black jammed her remote.

Madeline screamed again. Her air was cut off, replaced with a sweet-smelling aphrodisiac vapor. It drove her into an erotic frenzy, making her moan and writhe with pleasure even as her lungs burned and she gasped for oxygen.

"Your air has been restored. Now, what is your purpose?"

"Slave," Madeline muttered .




****




"Do you know why we don't simply hypnotize you? Can anyone here answer me?"

The class was not silent; several moans emanated from the "students," each of them still strapped in their chairs, each of them moaning as their glistening black latex catsuits reflected the harsh flourescent lights above.

"Nobody? What about Ms. Pathiba?"

Professor Blacke slammed a button on her 'clicker.' It wasn't at all like the tools professors normally directed slideshows with, thought the "dunce student" Madeline. It had complete control over them, and she knew it; life, death, prison, freedom. She literally controlled the class with the push of a button.

Pathiba Raje was the 'ace student' of the class, thought Madeline. And with such status came benefits... Pathiba was still enclosed within the black gleaming catsuit (she had never seen any students get theirs taken off, and Madeline assumed they were nearly permanent) but her collar was smaller, and she was mostly unbound - her arms and legs could stretch as she pleased. Not that they did; the 'ace student' was just another way of saying 'the most brainwashed'.

"Because you enjoy teaching so much, Professor Blacke?" Asked Prathiba.

"Very good, my dear," said Blacke wryly.




****




Professor Blacke was sitting on the her desk with a certain haughty air, crossing her legs and showing off her thighs.

"Madeline, you were asking about what one's position is earlier in the period? Why don't you come up to the board and help finish these sentences?"

Madeline was still bound in her sleepsack; internal sleeves and leg-straps would not permit more than a curious, "mmmph?" at the instructor.

The captive student thought she was off the hook - until the teacher's pet, Prathiba, swept her off her feet and brought her to the front of the room. "Tsk, tsk, we shouldn't need to force you to learn!"

Blacke uncapped Madeline's gas mask and replaced the cap with a piece of chalk. It made her want to sneeze and blocked her air flow more than she liked.

Grunting, moaning, and completely off-balance, she leaned down - feeling straps digging into her thighs and grinding against her feminine edge. And, like a good student, she began to write.

SLAVES ______ THEIR OWNERS

A ______ SLAVE IS A GOOD SLAVE

ABDICATION OF FREEDOM IS _________

She couldn't achieve. She coughed, collapsed, shed a tear.

"Third strike, Madeline. Detention," grinned Blacke. Madeline sobbed.




*****






"Do you know why you're here?" A man in a catsuit presided over detention. It hugged his figure like the outline on a cartoon, making him look sleek and in-charge; like a secret agent.

Madeline said nothing, but not due to any gag.

Instead, she was naked. Completely in the nude, and unbound, she sat at an ordinary plastic folding chair pushed against an ordinary long table. An ordinary notebook and a pen sat in front of her.

Madeline licked the inside of her mouth. She was bored.

"You're here because you failed. This is detention." The man's clean-shaven face and dark skin seemed too friendly.

"Are you bored?"

Madeline had to agree, but she didn't dare say it.

In fact, this room was the most boring thing she had seen since she was abducted and forcibly "enrolled" in this school. Ordinary walls, no posters, an utter lack of sensuality or charm; the room sucked the erotic surge that had taken her earlier as she was tormented, used as a rubber-slave, trained, mentally attacked and physically restrained.

"Write what we discussed, Madeline."

She leaned her head on her hand.

"Write what we discussed, and you lose your name. You get a student number and a slave name."

Time passed. Madeline sighed. It must have been at least an hour since she was put into this room. She realized now that she was, yes, quite bored. Even more bored than when she was 'free,' free to leave. It was tantalizing; all that rubber, all that attention and discipline, the masks and strict teachers and the sleepsacks and the conditioning, was just a few rooms away. Here she was sitting in "detention," the very antithesis of excitement.

Clever.

Madeline took the pencil and wrote.
The man smiled and took her.'


"TEACH ME"



*****


There was electricity in the air.
Further, there was electricity on the ground, and on the walls. Exposed wires, jolting with nonlethal but decidedly animating shocks.
The outage was caused by someone re-routing all electricity to the gym. The results were catastrophic.
This was the "gymnasium," where Madeline had occasionally participated in strange, enforced activities that involved various acts of sybaritic training. The instructors, during "class," were definitely the ones enjoying the 'games', be it some sort of bondage-race, rope-tying, or learning how to effectively counter escape techniques, in addition to actual physical exercise and gymnastics.
Madeline was, until 15 minutes ago, "Student 43," when at exactly 13:22 the power to the entire school (which was still nameless) had been cut. Restraints were automatically released, hypnosis programs stopped mid-cycle.
Utter madness, really.
Madeline wore a jet-black catsuit, ringed straps at her elbows, wrists, knees, ankles, thighs, and torso. She had pulled off the D-rings to reduce any excess clinking; she was predator tonight, crawling through the gymnasium.

It was electrifying in multiple senses. Madeline chattered with excitement as she crawled along the floor on all fours.
This escape attempt would either succeed spectacularly or fail miserably.

For the first time, thought Madeline, wearing a ludicrous all-black suit made sense. The room was lit only by the occasional spark.

Prathiba was Madeline's target. The former "honor student" groped at the air, her arms flailing as she tried to find Madeline.

Prathiba made a mistake. She flailed just a bit too far. Electricity shot up her arm to her –
The former honor student was tackled to the ground by Madeline. The two women, unable to see each other, instead relied on tactile sensations. In another world it would have been a 'catfight'.
Here, it was an act of vitriolic defiance. They charged together.





*****



A pair of former classmates tumbled through the dark.

This was not a schoolyard tussle. (Although in actuality, it was.)

The two of them had been kept in some sort of purgatory, a facility exclusively created to house women and men and addict them to servitude, rubber, bondage, and various other kinks, both more and less savory. Vast sums of money spent on molding and creating minds.

Prathiba, Madeline's erstwhile rival, now fought with all gusto. There were no teachers, no books, no lessons. Instead, the two of them fought through the blackened gymnasium.

Prathiba shoved Madeline, extending her leg with a high kick. Madeline flew away, surprised by the turnaround. She clambered to her feet, the squeaking of her latex catsuit against the ground giving away her position.

The escape attempt had hit its apogee.

"What do you think you are DOING, fourty-three?" screamed Prathiba in a slightly accented tenor. She picked up Madeline and violently threw her – once, twice, accosting her and keeping Madeline from getting any footing.

Painful shocks went up both their bodies as the Gymnasium's "training course" jolted them.

Madeline said nothing, scrambling through the nearest door and out of the room.

This one was better-lit; the "locker room," so to speak… though considering that most students had their advanced uniforms on all the time, it was mostly used for pleasure. Vats of advanced nanopaste and viscose-latex crowded the room, sinks filled with the stuff.

Prathiba charged in. Madeline calmly said, "You're jealous that you're not the teacher's pet… or even her plaything."

Prathiba charged, and Madeline dodged. She used her training to the maximum.

Gaining the upper hand, Madeline took Prathiba's arms behind her and pressed their bodies together. The both of them kicking and screaming, she worked Prathiba over towards a sink, brimming with ebony-black nanopaste.




*****





She struggled, the two of them nudging, battering their arms and legs against the walls and the "sink." In a moment of weakness, Prathiba stopped to get her breath.

It was all Madeline needed. She plunged her foe into the sink, bubbles rising from the paste as her head and hair dipped below.

A few seconds later, Madeline pulled her foe back up.  The nanopaste parted her nostrils, but held rigid. Prathiba's lovely and sharp features were now encased in jet-black. Her eyelids closed, mouth agape (she could still hear the occasional moan or breath), her hair pulled back; Prathiba was the very image of defeat, and she was now "preserved" in just such a way. The escape attempt was over.

It had failed.


Madeline dragged Prathiba's squirming body back to the classroom. For her efforts in stopping the escape attempt (and her demeanor, which had become much more in line with the School's goals) she had been awarded a gold star.

Prathiba was left like that, bundled into a straitjacket and coated in black nanopaste and liquid latex. She still moaned occasionally and wobbled, so her legs and feed were enclosed in a gold-and-black "trophy."

Professor Blacke had Prathiba placed in the trophy case for all of the "students" to see.

Madeline was satisfied. Just days before, Madeline would have tried to escape. Today she stopped an attempt.




****




Madeline stepped back into her apartment. She had just finished reminiscing about her good times with the School.

"Good news, dearies," Madeline said to the three young men in her apartment.

"I can't keep you here. I've found the place for you." She took out a business card. It was for the School.

The boys – actually her recent captives-  moaned.


They dreaded going to School.