Message-ID: <44269asstr$1063213826@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <3F5EE35B.4030504@hawaii.rr.com>
From: Robin Neal <robin-neal@hawaii.rr.com>
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Win98; en-US; rv:1.0.2) Gecko/20030208 Netscape/7.02
X-Accept-Language: en-us, en
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 09 Sep 2003 22:39:55 -1000
Subject: {ASSM} Pet {Robin Neal} [6/?]
Date: Wed, 10 Sep 2003 13:10:26 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/44269>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman
<1st attachment, "Pet6.txt" begin>
Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without
permission prohibited
PET
6. CYNTHIA
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?"
Cynthia hesitated. "Yes, Mademoiselle."
This seemed very unlikely even to me. The maids were so
efficient. I couldn't imagine Lucy not knowing where my books
were. How in the world had Cynthia lost her book?
"Please come up here, Cynthia." The instructor indicated that
she should stand in front of the desk and face the class.
Cynthia looked like she was slowly being strangled, but she
managed to stay at attention. We all looked straight ahead,
avoiding her eyes. Mademoiselle Kelly picked up her phone, and
asked the operator for Mademoiselle Celeste. Presumably Cynthia
belonged to her. After a moment, Mademoiselle Kelly was
connected to Cynthia's Lady, and there was a conversation, too
low for us to hear. I didn't think Cynthia was breathing. At
length Mademoiselle Kelly put down the phone and stepped up next
to Cynthia. The little girl didn't come up to the instructor's
shoulder. Her face shone with tears.
"Cynthia," said the Instructor, "I have no idea what you have
done with your book. Mademoiselle Celeste is questioning your
maids now. I'm sure that it will be found, but in the meantime
Mademoiselle Celeste has asked that your punishment begin
immediately. That means here, in class."
Cynthia choked back a gasp, managed not to say anything, and
stood there quaking. She was wound as tight as a violin string.
It came to me that her body really looked inviting in her extreme
posture, her full, firm boobs straining up and her shoulders
pulled back, her bottom clenched tightly. I pushed the wicked
thought away, trying to feel sympathy for her. It could be me
next time. But I had a nagging feeling that there was something
wrong here. I looked closely at Cynthia's face. It was strained
and tearful, and she was staring at an imaginary point above the
heads of the class, just as one might expect, but I was still
bothered by her look. I could not help thinking that there was
MORE than fear there.
"Turn around and face the desk, please, Cynthia," said
Mademoiselle Kelly. She gently moved the little girl up against
the front of the desk, then took Cynthia's wrists and pulled them
firmly into the small of her back, right by the tight belt of her
little black jumper. At the back of the belt was a single cuff
of heavy black vinyl. It was attached to the belt and lay flat,
and was hard to notice unless it was used. I had one too. We
all did, it was part of the uniform, a just-in-case kind of
thing. With a practiced motion, Mademoiselle Kelly turned it and
clasped it around Cynthia's wrists and squeezed it tight. The
no-return catch engaged, and Cynthia's wrists were locked in
place. These cuffs could be cut off with scissors, but couldn't
be unlocked and certainly none of us had the strength to break
them. I had been put in mine twice in the last month, when I had
thrown those angry little fits I sometimes had, and I could
testify that it was a very effective way of making a girl
helpless.
Immediately, Mademoiselle Kelly leaned over and reached into the
bottom drawer of her desk. She took out a short, wide black
leather strap with a buckle, slipped it around Cynthia's legs
just above the knees and pulled it tight. Then she hooked it
into an odd kind of brass fitting that was mounted right at that
level on the front of the desk. I had wondered idly what it was
for, and now we could all see. Cynthia was anchored tightly to
Mademoiselle's desk. She couldn't step away and she couldn't
turn. We could all hear her strained breathing.
Mademoiselle faced the class. "Young ladies, Cynthia is to be
punished. You will watch and learn from her punishment, and I
expect you to be still until you are dismissed. If any of you
moves or makes a comment, you will follow Cynthia. Am I
understood?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle," we said in unison, sort of hypnotized. To
reinforce Mademoiselle Kelly's instructions, the Lady near the
door detached herself from the wall and moved to the side of the
classroom, where she could watch us better. I sat perfectly
still. We all did.
The instructor put a hand behind Cynthia's neck and pushed her
firmly and slowly forward until her cheek rested on the desk, her
bottom in the air and her heels just a bit off the floor. Her
pigtails were pulled to the side out of the way. We all could
see what was going to happen now, and our fears were confirmed
when Mademoiselle Kelly took a wooden ruler from her drawer and
delicately picked up the hem of Cynthia's pleated skirt and
flipped it over, baring her pink, trembling bottom.
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+