Episode 6: Cynthia
Copyright© 2003 by Robin Neal
Sex Story: Episode 6: Cynthia - Young, gorgeous and angry, Pet finds herself under lock and key at the House, a fabulous all-female institution that's part girls' school, part prison, part corporation and part brothel. Includes synopsis. In Episode 10, Pet isn't allowed much time to recover from her secret liaison with her mystery lover. Her Lady arrives to take her pleasure, and she isn't in a gentle mood.
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Romantic NonConsensual Reluctant Coercion Lesbian BDSM DomSub Spanking Light Bond Humiliation Oral Sex Masturbation Sex Toys Exhibitionism Slow
Lucy was in one of the other girls' rooms when I went upstairs, and she had put my uniform out on my wrought-iron dressing rack. I didn't mind Cosmetics Class, it was so much easier and more interesting than most of the other classes, especially the dreaded Posture Class with Mademoiselle Marienne. I went into the bathroom and was in the shower when Lucy arrived. She called, "Good Afternoon, Miss! I'm just straightening up!" When I turned off the shower, she came in and wrapped a fresh towel around me and combed out my wet hair.
"We'll have to blow-dry it, Miss Pet," she said. "There isn't time to put it up. You'll be late for class."
Lucy helped me get dry and lotioned and powdered, and then did my hair with the blow-dryer. She was so clever. She made a really neat kind of fluffy look that I could never have figured out, and helped me with my makeup again. Then she held my things while I got into my day uniform, a very short pleated black jumper, white ruffled blouse with long sleeves, and prim white socks with tall black patent pumps. She put a black ribbon in my hair and I looked in the mirror, kind of surprised at what I saw. I didn't usually look this good, did I? Schoolgirl cute, but with my figure and the kinky pumps there was a very interesting added sexuality to it, that I would never have noticed just a few days before. Lucy had dug out my books from wherever I had thrown them after the last class. How did she find things?
"Did you brush your teeth, Miss?" she asked as I stuffed my compact and things in a little over-the-shoulder black purse.
"I don't have time, Lucy! I'll have a mint!" I started for the door.
"Miss Pet, please brush your teeth. You know you should." Her tone stopped me as Lucy's tone could always stop me, and I backtracked to the bathroom, ashamed. Finished at last and with my lipstick fixed, I paused at the door and looked back at Lucy where she stood with an armload of towels and bikini, and said, "Thanks for everything, Lucy. You're the best!"
She smiled. "Your manners are certainly improving, Miss. Now you must hurry!" I hugged my books up against my tits to keep them from bouncing and scampered for class. At the end of the hall, one of the duty Trainers, a Lady of the House without a specific position, was getting all the girls in my class into a neat double line. I wasn't last, thank God. Some of the girls milled around a little and whispered to each other about this and that until the Trainer rapped her black switch against the wall. That silenced them and got them into place in a hurry. As we all walked down to class, I couldn't help but marvel at the difference I felt in the House. Had it always been this... well, comfortable? Follow a few sensible rules, act like a young lady, and there was nothing hard about it at all. Two days ago, it had seemed like the first class section of Hell. A beautiful prison with every Trainer watching for any excuse to punish me, every other girl either a jealous bitch or a stupid zombie, and Cissy had seemed like a reasonable version of Satan in woman's form. Now I was kind of almost hoping I would see her at dinner. Had she really said that about me? If so, I wanted to show her I could deserve it.
What in the world was happening to me? I would never have imagined that I could make these kinds of changes in my attitude. Part of it had to be chemical. Two years ago, just the idea of putting on clothes like these would have sent me to a psychiatrist. I wore nothing but jeans and loose t-shirts. Now the cuter and tighter my clothes were, the better I liked it. The thought of smoking a cigarette would have made me ill. Now smoking made me feel wicked and sexy. Putting on lipstick was sort of fun. Balancing in five-and-a-quarter-inch heels and swinging my ass when I walked seemed almost NATURAL. What would be next? Where would I be in a year? Or five years? Who would I be with? How would they treat me? Take your time, my little voice said. Take your time and see.
For now, I followed along in line, and in a few minutes we were in the west wing, at Cosmetics Class. The instructor was Mademoiselle Kelly, a tall redhead with a great chassis and skin like cream-colored porcelain. She wore her hair in a severe, artsy kind of pixie, and she was obviously very cultured. Her voice was clear and sort of resonant, like a bell. She wore a long black skirt and elegantly draped green satin blazer, with a lacy white blouse. As we lined up next to our little desks and quieted, at attention with our hands clasped behind our bottoms and our chins up, she stood next to her desk on a raised platform at the front of the room, mentally checking off the roll from a clipboard. The Lady who had brought us, I didn't know her name, stepped back against the wall by the door, and all movement simply left her. She didn't even seem to breathe, but she was totally relaxed and I knew from experience that she could stand there, posture perfect, for hours at a time. I was supposed to learn to do that some day.
"Good Afternoon, young ladies," Mademoiselle Kelly addressed us. "It's a pleasure to see you today."
"Good Afternoon, Mademoiselle," we chorused.
"Please be seated." We did as instructed with a minimum of chair scraping.
"On Wednesday, we began to consider how the shape of the face determines the cosmetic options we may choose from." A big screen came to life on the wall behind her square mahogany desk. At first it was dark, but Mademoiselle Kelly had a little device in her hand and when she gestured with it, a kind of mannequin head appeared and rotated in space. How did she do that? She used her little tool to somehow make a point of light on the screen, and she controlled the way the face turned. She made it face straight at us and zoomed in closer. She indicated where the cheekbones and other parts were, and then she did something REALLY neat. She was talking about how wider faces could be narrowed by different hairstyle framing and more vertical contrasting makeup, and when she pointed with the little dot of light and moved it slowly, the face got wider. The whole thing changed, and I began to see that she could stretch and distort it just about any way she wanted. I was fascinated. What she was saying about the cosmetic techniques was neat too.
Class went on. We didn't really have to take notes in our classes, and no one interrupted Mademoiselle Kelly with questions. I knew she would ask if there were any at some point. She always did. We didn't have homework, but we were supposed to read our books and she would sometimes ask us questions about the things we read. If we didn't know the answers, she usually explained things anyway, but she could also be very strict if one of the girls didn't pay attention or wasn't prepared. She had sent girls to their Ladies for punishment several times that I could remember, usually for whispering or not concentrating, and once for forgetting a book. Today we were supposed to have read about foundation shading, and after a few minutes she started to ask some questions. Lucy and Vivian, my night maid, had reminded me so many times about my reading that I had eventually done it, whining all the way, and I knew most of the answers.
Before she got to my row, Mademoiselle Kelly went up the row to my left, from back to front. She asked just about every girl a question, and although some answers were better than others it seemed to me that they had at least read the chapter. I couldn't turn my head to look at the girls further back, but I could see that the girl just ahead of me and to the left had some kind of problem. She didn't dare fidget, but her hands where they were clasped on top of her books were actually shaking, and her knuckles were white. I could hear her breathing. What on earth was wrong with her? If she was sick, she could just raise her hand and be excused. Mademoiselle Kelly wouldn't be upset, sending her to the Nurse was better than having her upchuck in class or something.
The instructor turned to indicate something on the screen, and I took a chance and quickly craned my neck. Shit! I saw right away what was wrong. There was only one book on her desk. She had hidden it so far, but when Mademoiselle Kelly got to her and she stood to answer her question, it would be obvious. The inexorable questioning went on, while I watched sideways and saw little spots of sweat blossom on the back of the poor thing's blouse. I couldn't see her face, and I didn't think I knew her. She was short and kind of slight, with straight, shiny black hair in long, long pigtails. She kept her face straight ahead and didn't move, but she was trembling with fear.
The girl next to me, behind the frightened girl, was asked and answered her question. Mademoiselle Kelly paused. Just when it seemed the girl would scream, the instructor said, "Very well, it seems you have paid attention to your reading, girls. I'm pleased." We all beamed. "Now, let us see what happens when base makeup is countershaded. Does everyone remember what countershading means?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle," said the class.
She used her magical-seeming pointer thing to color in the face on the screen, making different countershadings to show the effects. It was really interesting, and I forgot about the scared girl. Mademoiselle Kelly continued for about fifteen minutes, asked if there were any questions, answered a couple, then told us what to read for the next class. "I've enjoyed seeing you this afternoon, young ladies. Please remember what you have learned, it's important and we may have a test soon."
She paused, and we all kind of paused with her, thinking we were going to be dismissed. A couple of girls actually lifted their hands from on top of their books, but caught themselves quickly when no one else moved. We sat there for a long ten seconds as she looked up and down the rows of desks, and then Mademoiselle Kelly did something to turn off her magic screen, turned and looked calmly straight at the scared girl with black pigtails.
"Cynthia," she said clearly. The girl turned into an absolute statue.
After a couple of seconds, when the instructor didn't say anything else, Cynthia said, "Yes, Mademoiselle?" in a voice that already had tears in it.
"Stand up, please," said Mademoiselle Kelly, and Cynthia slowly got up and stood at attention, toes together, her fingers laced behind her butt and her chin and breasts held high. Now that she was standing, I recognized her. She was an Oriental girl I had only seen in this class, younger than most of the others and very pretty. Then it hit me. When Mademoiselle Kelly had sent that girl to her Trainer to be punished for forgetting one of her books, it had been Cynthia. The total idiot! How could she have forgotten again?
This was not good. I had never seen a girl get in trouble for the same thing twice at the House. Punishments were unforgettable. I had probably been punished more than any other girl I knew of, and even I wasn't stupid enough to do the same thing wrong again afterward. It would be like helping the hangman tie the knot. What was wrong with this Cynthia girl?
Mademoiselle Kelly looked down at her with an intent gaze.
"Cynthia, where is your 'Foundations and Accents' book?"
Cynthia tried twice, and finally got out, "I don't know, Mademoiselle," in a squeaky, frozen kind of voice. She was trying desperately not to sniffle, but there were tears on her face. Mademoiselle Kelly went on.
"Do you mean that you couldn't find it in your room when it was time to come to class?"