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 Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without permission
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   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.  Her lacy thong was
a pristine white.

   Cynthia broke down before the first stroke landed.  "Please no...  It
wasn't my fault!  I'm so sorry..." It began as a whine and ended as a sob.
Mademoiselle Kelly poised beside her and raised the ruler.  "I want you to
be as quiet as you can, Cynthia." she said firmly.  "You are being punished
for a good reason.  Don't make it worse by being noisy." Cynthia really
tried to shut up, but with the crack of the first stroke she lost it again.
She took five measured strokes on each cheek, alternating, and with every
smack of the ruler she yelped in pain and whimpered for mercy.  She threw
her rosy, helpless bottom from side to side as much as she could and
strained uselessly against her cuff.  Mademoiselle Kelly held her down
effortlessly with a hand between her shoulder blades and continued, each
stroke perfectly placed in a fan pattern that showed bright pink across
Cynthia's ass.  Every time the ruler landed, Cynthia kicked up a dainty
black pump, then put the foot down again, trying to keep her balance.

   When it was over, the instructor let Cynthia go and her little victim
didn't or couldn't straighten up, she just lay across the desk crying
brokenly.  "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." I was near the front of
the class, and I happened to look at Cynthia's little white thong panties
where they showed between her cheeks.  They seemed darker somehow.  I
looked closer.  Her inner thighs were shiny, and yes, her panties were
soaked.  Cynthia's pussy was DRIPPING!

   I might have been the only one who saw before the Instructor turned
Cynthia's skirt back down.  After a moment, Mademoiselle Kelly dismissed
class and we stood by our desks at attention to wish her Good Afternoon,
trying to ignore the moaning girl strapped to her desk.  We filed out with
more than our usual precision under the sharp eye of our escorting Trainer,
and in a few minutes I was back in my room.  I went straight into the
bathroom and took my panties down.  I thought I had to pee, there was such
a tight sensation between my legs, but as I sat on the potty and slid my
hand down to my pussy, I realized that the inner lips of my vagina were
kind of swollen and hot, in a way I had really never experienced before.  I
investigated, trying to figure it out, and as I touched myself I began to
get abruptly and messily wet!  What was going on?  Before I knew it, I was
rubbing with two fingers around my clitoris and breathing hard.  My eyes
closed, my head tipped back and I started to moan uncontrollably, low in my
throat.

   Somehow I knew, somehow I shared something with Cynthia that no one else
had realized.  I knew what had happened to her book.

   I stroked quicker, my muscles tightening and chills racing through me. I
shoved my thumb in my mouth to try and keep myself quiet.  When I came, I
lost control of my legs and one of my shoes whacked against the baseboard
as a long, high squeal was forced from me.  Then I slumped against the back
of the toilet, gasping for breath.  I was a total mess, my face sweaty,
lipstick all over my thumb, and my other hand and thighs slick and sticky.
God, what a hard orgasm!  Why?  Why had I had to do that?  In all the time
since I had come to the House, with all the things I didn't understand,
this was the greatest mystery yet.

   *****

   In episode 7, Pet's confused new feelings are brought out in the open,
in front of her Lady.  How much has Pet changed, and how will Cissy react?