Melody Smith's Schooldays

Melody Smith's Schooldays

by Eve Adorer

Chapter 18 – 'The Founding Mothers'

Such was my misery at losing Angela's love, that I welcomed the chance to go back to St Catherine's Academy for Girls at the beginning of September for the new academic year.

I had become seventeen in the August – coincidentally August 17 ^th to be exact. Mummy and daddy tried so hard to make my birthday lovely. I did my best to smile, even though I was to be often found gazing through the window that looked onto the main road, as if I was waiting for Angela to turn up once more.

I was day dreaming of course. I suppose too, looking back, I was being more than a little self-indulgent. But in my defence, if ages sixteen and seventeen are not the right times in a girl's life for the powerful passions to hold sway in her mind, when is she ever ripe for the feelings that all is either black and doom and gloom; or white and joyousness?

Despite the discomfort of my journey home at the beginning of my summer vacation, I still preferred to use the train on the way back to Scotland, even though daddy did offer to arrange the aeroplane flight. I had a horror of flying then: I still do now, if I am honest.

My first action on returning to the academy, and having carried my cases into my room within the prefect's dorm, from the cab I had hired from the railhead to the school was, of course, to take off my panties.

As I recall, I did it so matter-of-factly. I simply put down the first suitcase I had struggled to carry, and before going out to the cab to collect the second, reached up my skirt, slid my panties, still warm from their intimacy with me, down my supreme legs, and stepped out of them, before throwing them into the wash-pile, knowing I would not need them again for the remainder of the term.

My second act, on returning to the dorm with the second case, and the remaining last of my baggage, was to put on my left hand wedding ring finger, the ring that confirmed I was the appointed School Slag.

As was custom at the start of term, there was to be a teatime assembly of the whole school. I had no time in which to unpack properly, my train had been two hours late. I must away to the assembly hall, where the end of previous term summer ball had been held, to meet the new intake of girls, and hear what the headmistress had to tell us all.

I was wearing the school winter uniform, including the yellow and red candy-striped blazer, the tie with its diagonal stripes of the same colour, a long-sleeved blouse, a mini skirt of grey pleated wool, white knee socks, black lace-up shoes and, outdoors at least, the canary yellow beret. I had obeyed to the letter, the headmistresses' directive that we girls wear our uniform with pride on our journeys to and from home.

As I hurried down the corridors to make my way to the assembly hall, I came across the head-girl and two prefects, including the delicious Jo, talking to an extremely attractive newcomer whose name, I was later to learn, was Kimi.

In my haste not to be late for the gathering, I dropped a perfunctory leggy curtsey to the head-girl; on the reasoned assumption that all appearances showed she was too distracted to notice me.

My assumption was wrong.

As I hurried by, the head-girl's voice called after me: "Smith, are you wearing a bra!?"

I stopped and turned. I was blushing the deepest of deep pink at being hailed so and shamed so in front of the new girl. I dropped a proper lovely legged submissive curtsey to my superior, and answered her with the truth: "No ma'am"

"Come here Smith" I was ordered.

I slinked toward the head-girl as per my command from her, and took more, as much more note as I dared, of the delectable young girl she was talking to.

Kimi was of Japanese origin. She was a dainty little doll with adorable heavy lidded brown eyes, and lustrous hair as black as midnight in outer space. Her perfect teeth flashed in an extremely shy but devastatingly attractive smile as I looked at her. She was no more than five-feet-two or three, but she clearly had a figure that would cause a pope to wolf-whistle, with a self-evidently very heavy bosom for such a little girl. She was maybe fifteen as I thought. I could instantly see why the head-girl, Jo and another prefect were attracted to her: she was a stunning little honey! One look at Kimi's closed mouth, with her generous upper-lip curling and curving flatly like Cupid's biggest and boldest bow, and the only word was "wow!!"

As I stood with the group of girls, including Kimi, who, for some reason was not in school uniform, nobody made any attempt to introduce me, not even the supremely lovely Josephine.

The head girl beckoned me so that I stood facing her, and with Kimi standing shyly looking between us. Then the head-girl put an eager enquiring hand under the hem of my skirt, and felt my nude naughty: right in front of the new girl, who clearly did not know where to hide her face, so embarrassed was she, having to watch as the head-girl felt me.

I had no choice, being the School Slag, I had no choice other than to let the head-girl explore and feel me. It was over in seconds, but in less than that I was creaming honey at being degraded by being "felt up" in front of the gorgeous Kimi.

"You're a bewitching tart, Smith!" the head-girl told me as she removed her hand.

"Thank you ma'am", I answered with all due respect as I curtseyed lovely long leggilly to the head-girl once again.

In some ways I had dreaded another term as the School Slag, and this demeaning treatment upset me. But what upset me more, was my superb body's instant reaction to its being felt.

I was either still upset over losing Angela, or just enjoying imagining I was still upset over losing Angela. I was a very young schoolgirl. I was only just seventeen. I was young enough to have the right to enjoy wallowing in a little self-pity. I was in the years of high emotions and swinging moods. I was a teenage girl being a teenage girl.

I had kept up my running during the summer vacation. Now I was back at the academy, I began my first full day of the new year, with a three-mile run to keep up my fitness and my superb figure.

On return, a little more breathless than usual, having perhaps run a little too arduously, I showered and then looked for my clothing for the day.

I knew my clothing would be set out for me. What the School Slag was to wear each day was decided by the prefects which meant, in effect, the head-girl, since she was extremely dominant.

What had been laid out for me this day, was school uniform. It was school uniform, except that it was not the St Catherine's uniform; at least not all of it.

It began: as I dressed I began with a tar-black suspender belt around my slender tender-girl's hips. Then I rolled up each heavenly leg I was adorned by, and god had clearly given me perfect copies of her own legs, murder-at-midnight-black stockings, which I sexily-open-mouthed in my deliciously-appealing lightly-furrowed-browed-concentration, fixed to my erotic black-knight black-night suspenders.

Next came the standard-issue St Catherine's Academy winter shirt-blouse, a tailored virgin-white blouse cuffed at my wrists, and buttoned from my neck to below my wasp's waist, before just covering the tops of my delightful bummy.

Now and next, I put on the St Catherine's school tie, with its canary yellow and crimson-red alternating diagonal candy-stripes, and I was ready for my skirt.

I say "skirt", but what I was in fact to don next was neither skirt nor dress: what I was to put on next was an old-fashioned, cotton, schoolgirl gymslip.

My crimson gymslip, like most all gymslips, comprised a pleated skirt with inbuilt waistband having a side fastening to pull it tight to the wearer's middle. At it's front, as a continuation of the skirt, it rose to form a bib, like the front top of an apron. At the back of my crimson gymslip, from the waistband, dangled two straps of the same cotton material as the gymslip skirt, and just as an integral part of the garment as the skirt and the frontal bib.

As I looked into the skirt of my gymslip in preparation for putting it on, I immediately saw that it had been modified especially for me. I had been the School Slag for long enough now to instantly understand the modification, its wicked purpose, and how I must wear it.

And so, I raised the temptation of temptations, my right leg and stepped that perfection into my gymslip skirt, before lifting the siren of sin, my left leg, so that I stood momentarily bent at the knees within the skirt of the gymslip, and would now slide it up my already stockinged legs.

And so indeed I raised myself as my pretty hands lifted my gymslip skirt up the legs-of -heaven, till the silk rope that had been purposely sewn into the skirt, the silk rope that was sewn at its ends to the waistband of my gymslip, the silk rope that was thus between my goddess' thighs, was ready for the home it was to nestle within for the day.

And, as if it were the normal way to wear a skirt any and every day, I continued to pull up my skirt with my divinely gentle and soft hands, till I could make the waistband fit my waist, and I gasped audibly as by doing so I pulled the in-sewn silk rope between the thus parted lips of my naughty naughty.

I then reached round to my left, and put the little leather strap's third and last eyehole into the answering buckle that, when strapped by strap-and-buckle would pull my gymslip skirt hard tightly to my rightly wolf-whistle-worthy waste-not-even-a-milligram-of a-milligram waist.

Thus was the silk rope modifying my gymslip pulled hard up tight within my honeypot, dividing, and by dividing, ruling my naked nude-shaven naughty. And even though it was already tight, I must still take the straps that dangled behind me, one each over my shoulders, and fasten those straps by three buttons each strap, to the bib of the crimson gymslip, and thereby pull the silken rope even higher into moist heaven.

And as I fastened the second strap to my gymslip bib, the bib was pulled hard to my chest and thus divided my deeply-cleaved bosom, so that my soft virgin firm breasts took up any and all the slack in my virgin-schoolgirl-white blouse, and I thus sported two feminine torpedoes either side of the bib: torpedoes with clearly visible dangerously-easily-triggered pert percussive caps, more explosive and devastating in their hair-trigger-fire-power-pointed-potent-potentiality, than any merely nuclear warheaded sub-marine mean machine.

Lastly I donned my steepling black-leather heelless, black-leather-laced, steel soled and steel toe-capped, balletic tiptoeing shoes, and I was as dressed for the day as I was undressed for the day.

To check that I was the perfection that my shyness would never allow me to admit to myself I indeed was, I wiggled over to look at myself in my gymslip micro-miniskirt in the full-length mirror I had in my room. And as I ran my lovely light-blue-shining-star-eyes over my reflection from stem to stern, I instantly assured and ensured there was no possibility the silk ropette pulled up almost cruelly hard into the very naughty cleft of my very naughty naughty would ever cause rope-burn, by lubricating it with my carnal cream, copiously.

…………

If an orgasm could walk: if an orgasm could talk: if an orgasm could have human form, I was an orgasm on orgasm's orgasmic legs, as I wiggled, my hips rotating when I planted each supreme tiptoed leg before the other in my deportment trained model-girl's rattlesnake wiggle-walk, and I stunned my fellow schoolgirls to silence as my near-four-foot-long blonde hair flagged my arrival as the gift of the true goddess as it flowed out from my heavenly head in the strong wind of a cool September morning.

I was on my way to work the day in the academy's library.

At the afternoon assembly that had preceded the arrival of this, the first day of the new academic year, Miss Pringle, the headmistress, had appointed those who were to have a whole week of "work experience". These were the seventeen-year-olds such as myself. The only difference between myself and almost all the other seventeen-year-old schoolgirls at St Cath's, being that Miss Pringle had ensured I retained a work experience posting within the academy, so that I would be available for my School Slag duties after school-day hours.

And so it was to the school library to girl the counter there all day, indeed all week, that I was snaking my lithe very sexy body in my crimson gymslip with my moonless-midnight black stockings, a simple crimson garter atop my left black-hole-black-stockinged thigh, and my thigh's tanned flesh showing and shining with its smoothness where my clearly visible suspenders did not inverted-V-pull my stocking-tops over their divineness.

And I was swinging my hips so that my naughty lips were 'chewing' on the silken rope splitting the shores of the Styx that flowed with sure pure honey, the ropette in the valley of the honey river dividing the banks of heaven: the immeasurable, questionably-existent, infinitesimal if actual, gap between girl and very heaven itself.

Despite my misery at losing Angela, I was an angel aroused by the tease-rope pulled hard up into my cunt, the tease-rope I was baptising with heaven-honey as I wiggle-walked all-girl to my library duties.

I was feeling extremely sad and still very sorry for myself. As I had thought of Angela, I had been letting myself get more miserable by the hour. I fought not to show it because I feared I would be questioned and bullied by the other girls in the prefecture.

I was feeling extremely sad and still very sorry for myself as I thought of Angela, and so to dress like this was a sort of self-punishment: to be forced to go around the school all day so very erotically garbed, was to sacrifice myself. It was self-torture. I was going to degrade and humiliate myself before the whole school by having to go around dressed, indeed undressed, as I was, whilst every other girl wore her proper and normal school uniform.

And I wanted to degrade and humiliate myself before the whole school. I wanted to suffer for Angela. I wanted to debase myself in sacrifice to my love for Angela, more imagined than real though I would never admit it to be.

This state of erotic schoolgirl near-nudity was to be my martyrdom. I was going to go exposed and degraded in my gymslip for Angela. This was going to be my punishment for betraying Angela when I had suffered being gang-raped.

These were only my own thoughts. None of those who obliged me to dress this way knew anything of Angela. This was going to be my punishment for betraying Angela. These were only my own thoughts, but why oh why did my naughty moist-flow so, as I thought these thoughts? And why oh why did my little clitty wiggle and pulse as I thought these thoughts? Was it because my clitty's hideyhood was under the purposeful pressure of the taut-tease-rope, now so slithery within my secretions as I walked in my natural waltz on my divine tiptoed feet with my cunt lips being constantly rubbed on it and by it?

In my 'sacrificial' gymslip, I wiggled with pride out of the prefects dorm to my duties, and knocked every other girl in the school off her feet, as their mouths fell open and they could not even wolf-whistle so staggered were they at the sight of my incredibly beautiful seventeen-year-old schoolgirl's body swan-gliding by them in sexy swaying undulating bummy swing, as I put each foot before the other in my trained naturally sexy catwalk way: as this apparition of angelic perfection, dressed in crimson mock-schoolgirl gymslip, with her long golden blonde hair tumbling in the wind, dancer-tiptoe-walked; nay apparitioned by, and they just stopped in their tracks, silent, stunned, astounded, and then clapped their hands to applaud my ravishing beauty.

As the girls in the playground and paths I blessed by my passage to the library gathered around to ogle me at close quarters, I felt the return of my confidence in my sublime loveliness and the power it gave me over the other girls. And I once again began my incredible shy sunny sincere smile, and thanked them every one for their whistles and their torrent of compliments on my incredible wonder. And leading among them were Nulinda, the fabulous Asian-Indian girl, and Josephine, my one-and-only-love, or was she?, my Jo, the dark-brown-haired, dark-brown-eyed Jo.

……………..

I swept two stray tails of my down-to-the back-of-my-knees length golden-blonde glistering glistening hair, back over my shoulders with heavenly pretty hands: hands furnished and finished with squared-off impractical but very decorative fingernails, hands now delightfully lightly light-brown tanned by my time in the summer sun when at home on holiday.

I had been the bodacious beach belle in my bikini in France for a week. My lovely skin turned readily brown with the suns caress, and I had incredibly lovely freckles on my innocent face. And my face was not the only lovely place I wore a stunning tan: I had dared to go topless!

Mummy and daddy had whisked me off to southern France before my summer vacation ended, to try and ease my pain at losing Angela.

…………

In the library on duty, on 'work experience' duty, with shining beacon light-blue baby-doll-eyes downcast in apologetic shyness, I passed the scanner over the bar-mark on the books, listened for the "beep" from the monitor that confirmed I had performed this function satisfactorily, flashed my glorious eyes and compelling lovely smile at a little black-haired Korean girl, and once more brushed back my heavenly heavy long blonde hair.

I was now working daily, for the week, in the comprehensively well-stocked library at St Catherine's Academy for Girls, gaining some experience of what it was like to be in paid employment in the outside world. At least, that was the declared intention: though I wasn't actually being paid and I wasn't actually in the outside world.

I almost felt I had got to know the adorable Japanese doll who had visited the library four times that day, my first at the library: "Miss Kimi Hai" according to her library membership card.

How had I mistaken this girl for a fifteen-year-old newcomer!? I had been shocked when I had seen her being introduced to the assembled school by Miss Pringle the previous afternoon. Miss Hai, 'Kimi', was the new head of art and science. But she looked like a schoolgirl and a very young schoolgirl at that! No wonder she had not been wearing school uniform when I had first come across her and the head-girl in the corridor as I rushed to the afternoon assembly: she was no schoolgirl, she was staff.

I certainly knew Miss Hai's taste in reading. She had taken out: 'Story of O', by Pauline Reage. I say that I knew her taste in reading. That is not strictly true. I only knew the 'taste' of the books' covers; I had no idea of their content. I had certainly not read, and nor would I ever be allowed to read 'Story of O' at school.

Perhaps I flatter myself, but I began to wonder if the frequent visits of Miss Hai to the school library were as a consequence of my being there in my incredibly sexy, more sexy than she probably knew, unless she knew of the silk-rope dividing my love-lips, my incredibly sexy crimson micro-miniskirted gymslip.

………….

That was how it had begun. That was how my day had begun. Now I was reminiscing. I needed to think back. I needed to try and understand how I had got where I was now: where I was now very much later on that same day: the same day as my first day in the school library on work experience; the same day as the first day in the new school year.

I had little recollection of how I had got to where I now was. I was in the sumptuous 'Founding Mothers' Building of St Catherine's Academy, or at least I was in a side-room there.

I was not there voluntarily.

Having previously made questionable use of the school library where I had just worked my first day, I had read the detective novels where 'the dame' gets slugged or drugged, and then held hostage till the world-weary heroine decides life is worth living after all, as her piercing eyes run up and down the glorious girl-confirming figure of 'the dame', after she finds her, to rescue her on behalf of her super-rich daddy. I had not yet come across the one where the beautiful innocent damsel has a cloth soaked in chloroform held over her mouth and nose; but I had not long since starred in that very scene for real.

My head had swum as I had awoken on a rough bed in a scruffy room I recognised as being where painting, pottery, sculpture, and practical science were taught, surrounded by pretty girls from the fourteen-year-old age-group of St Catherine's Academy who, as I came around, were gently stretching one of my feet so that my toes pointed straight ahead at-one with my divinely shapely leg, as they covered the full glorious length of that leg, and stretched outstretched foot, with wax and then moist plaster-of-Paris.

I lost consciousness again and came round a second, or was it a third or fourth time, with a demolition hammer smashing my forehead it seemed, such was the thunderous headache my abduction under anaesthetic had left me with. But I was awake enough to see that beside me on a table, were any number of plaster casts of the parts of a girl's body, including, I took in at one glance, before losing consciousness once more, arms, hands, legs, face, and buttocks.

What I had not fully taken in at my second, or was it my fourth or fifth awakening, was that the casts of the beautiful parts of a beautiful girl's body, were the casts of the beautiful parts of my own very beautiful body.

"May I have water please?" I had gently asked and been willingly granted by one of my pretty captors as I had awoken at long last half-fully, for I still had my head throbbing as never before.

………….

They had overcome me in a storeroom at the back of the library. It had been planned for weeks. Of course I knew that St Catherine's was a key target for recruits to the SGS……

…..I need to explain……

The SGS exists, but does not exist.

There: now you have the explanation.

Not satisfied?

Okay….. Let me say 'CIA'.

Of course, you immediately know the CIA is the Central Intelligence Agency of the USA. Thus it shows just how well kept a secret is the SGS, the Special Girl Service, that you have never before even had the slightest inkling of an inkling of its existence.

Up to World War II, the majority of world leaders had been male. Even after, as before World War II, these would have been married men. Britain had waned as a world-power even before World War II. But Britain still punched above its weight in espionage.

The James Bond stories are just silly frippery. The truth of what was going on was far stranger than that flatulent fiction. For example, do you really think we have been told the truth of Hitler's death in the Berlin bunker? Of course not. What we have always been told is a lie: a cover-up.

It was no suicide. Hitler's death was no suicide. An SGS girl assassinated Hitler. I cannot name her. Suffice it to say she was a statuesque Norwegian blonde, who spoke perfect German. She seduced Eva Braun. Yes: incredible isn't it? The truth often is. This girl seduced Hitler's mistress, Eva Braun, and thus got Braun to admit her to the bunker. Once in the bunker, the Norwegian beauty, a trained SGS soldierette, excused herself to where she could take her silenced special pistol from its very intimate holster, and …….well, the rest should have been the history if the truth had been possible to tell.

Whilst I had been at home on my summer vacation, and briefly sunning my stunning self in France, potential SGS recruits had stayed behind for a summer camp.

At that summer camp, as part of training, they had had to plan an abduction. That was part of SGS training. The few girls finally chosen would spend their youthful years working their wiles on the vulnerable wives of 'inconvenient' world leaders to undermine, destabilise and / or, ultimately if so ordered, to assassinate, mostly nowadays under sub-contract from British Intelligence to the CIA.

Of course, none of these girls knew it was SGS training they were undertaking as they planned to abduct me, once school had returned. It was routine Army adventure training they were told they were taking part in.

The back room of the library was not overlooked. It had been obvious from day-one of planning that it was the ideal spot for my abduction. A wheeled stretcher, a blanket to cover my unconscious body from prying eyes; it had been simplicity itself.

Miss Hai would be pleased. Miss Hai did not tolerate failure. Miss Hai never uttered a syllable of praise. The avoidance of Miss Hai's wrath was the best the girls she was spying out for their potential worth as Special Girl Service operatives when they matured, could hope for; and the abduction had gone so smoothly it had surely succeeded in wrath avoidance supreme.

I myself remembered little of it. The lovely little blonde fourteen-year-old I had never noticed among so many pretty girls at the school before, had said there had been an accident in the library's storeroom-cum-kitchenette. I had rushed there as quickly as my stunning balletically stretched legs would let me wiggle. Then a sweet taste was on my tongue, then the ceiling was spinning ever-faster round and around, the white light bulb aglow dangling from the middle of the store room ceiling, quickly turning red and then black. .…….

……..I had struggled in reflex but in no determined way. I had been taken totally by surprise. Having experienced not even one split scintilla of a suspicion to put me on my guard, I had put up no discernable struggle. Nonetheless, a pair of girlacles had been snapped on my slender wrists in case I came round unexpectedly. In case of nothing in reality. It had in fact been immediately necessary to catch me to save my lovely body being bruised in a heavy fall, as my mind absented itself from reality in the fumes of the chloroform on the mask across my gorgeous face: a textbook SGS abduction, albeit in training rather than in the field.

…………..

"May I have water please?" I had gently asked and been willingly granted by one of my pretty captors, my 'pretend captors', as I had awoken in the scruffy room at long last half-fully, if still with my head throbbing as never before.

As my lovely full-lipped sensationally kissable mouth daintily sipped water from the glass I had been given by the pretty blonde I recognised as the girl who had raised the false alarm, I thought back over my first day in the library. The adorable Japanese girl had been there maybe four or five times. What was her name? Miss Hai *****, of course. I had only forgotten for one split-second, and only then because my mind was still not fully unfuddled from the chloroform.

What I recalled most of all was the way Miss Hai had kept an eye on me on every visit to the library. Even as I had busied myself, I had been aware, with my in-built girl's seventh-sense of when she is being admired, that Miss Hai seemed always to be looking, even staring at me.

To no surprise to me, I had found this obvious admiration of my gymslipped charms by this perfect compact doll of a girl, exciting in a very nerve-tingling way. Once in a while I had raised my gorgeous blue eyes to check that I was indeed still being looked at. Then I had flicked my head to rearrange my stupendous hair, as I had lowered my face to try and concentrate on my task once more, smiling to myself and secretly to the woman staring at me, should she care to see, as I did so.

For a long time these proceedings had continued as if a courtship ritual. I knew I was being admired. I liked, nay loved being admired. But the woman showed no sign of wanting to talk to me. And, whether it was intended to do so or not, that had made me the more curious about the enticingly excitingly pretty doll.

It had happened on the third visit by Miss Hai. Having logged out six romantic novels for another of the academy's teachers, I had looked up to see Miss Hai's eyes on me yet once more.

Miss Hai had said nothing, but I had wiggled over in my supremely feminine dancer's glide, my stunning cunny being erotised and erotically constantly caressed inside by the taut-silk-tease-rope that parted its glistening guardian gates as I slinked over, because the look on Miss Hai's face was calculatedly that of a customer asking the librarian for assistance. There were other girls around on work experience too; but I was fully aware that Miss Hai had purposely waited to ensure it was I who came to the 'rescue'.

The fragrance of my profuse heavenly heavy wild blonde hair: hair swirling in unnavigable golden bewitching torrents, from my crown to the back of my very knees, must have filled Miss Hai's sensitively sensuous nostrils as I had come up close.

"May I help you madam?" my softly pouting constant sweet kiss proffering lips had whispered submissively attentively, as I had curtseyed in my scarlet gymslip to this new full-time member, and former summer casual member of the academy's staff.

I had then cast down my eyes humbly, knowing that my very heavy bosom 'torpedoes', my firm virgin's breasts double-belling-out my blouse, barely contained within my near bursting virgin-white blouse in their stupendous bulk, were being studied with the most profound pleasure by this older woman.

"May I help you madam?" my pertly kissable lips had whispered once more. Then I had raised my sparkling light-blue eyes and stunning tanned and adorably freckled face, knowing that my body remained under the unrelenting seemingly unblinking gaze of this lovely older woman, with the schoolgirl-age appearance, and blushed deeply as I had felt a shockingly pleasurable moistness in my naughty, and an acidic wave of gastric nervousness pass through my tummy, as my naughty moisture marinated the extremely tight tease-rope dividing my divine heaven's gates.

"Top shelf: Jemima Royal!" Miss Hai had snapped in a peremptory order rather than a request.

I had begun to tremble as I had pulled over the stepladder and risen in my tiptoe shoes upon it to the third-from-top-step and thus the third-from-top-shelf, the alphabetical "P, Q, and R" shelf. Knowing for almost certain that all this woman really wanted to do in fact, was to ogle my black-stockinged legs, I had grabbed the first book to come to hand from that shelf, and stepped down as quickly as I could.

"No!" Miss Hai had commanded, patiently but firmly, as I had tremblingly offered her the book I had blindly grasped in my state of supremely tingling nervousness, from the novelists with surnames beginning with "R".

"Let us both have another look shall we!" Miss Hai had demanded, and I had full well known that Miss Hai meant another look at my luxuriously long goddess' legs, and not merely another search for the book.

I had risen on the step-ladder once more, this time to it very top step, and this time, spotting the book demanded, stretched-up to the very top shelf, revealing the smooth tautly girlmuscular bare flesh of my running-trained thighs above the supreme contrast of the stretched tops of my black suspendered stockings, as the micro-miniskirt of my crimson gymslip had inevitably, inescapably, inexorably, inched: inviting eyes inside it, to inspect my inspirational incapably ineptly-hidden inner secrets, as my crimson gymslip had risen to reveal the very-tight bright-white silk tease-rope, sundering and plundering my mesmerisingly moist maiden's minx.

"Will it be 'A Critique of 'Story of O' madam?" I had enquired from my stretched tip-of-tiptoe tight cruelly painfully rope divided nude virgin-naughty-displaying aloftness.

"Most decidedly!" Miss Hai had answered with a calculated double-meaning I would have recognised instantly if I had ever read, or were in future to read, that particular tome, or its original subject.

I had blushed and shaken with the confusion of the messages my body was giving me, as I stepped down from the stepladder onto my tiptoe-shoes, and nervously handed Miss Hai her chosen book: a book Miss Hai had, unseen by me, purposely moved to the very top shelf, the wrong shelf in fact, earlier, so as to get to look at my legs, my bummy, and my cunny in close and intimate detail.

"You are an extremely attractive girl Melody," Miss Hai had then told me matter-of-factly, as my trembling hands had handed over the book. And I had immediately and disobediently wiggle-trotted to the bathroom to hide the state of fear and confusion I was in, at what this woman seemed to have reawakened within me.

Then had come my abduction: my practical practice abduction by fourteen-year-old fellow schoolgirls, undertaking very preliminary SGS training under the all-seeing eye of Miss Hai in her vacation job of many recent years, running the SGS talent-spotting and recruitment camp in the vacations between St Catherine's Academy's academic terms.

Now I lay sipping water and looking at plaster-of-Paris casts of my body. Naked as the day I was born I lay on a rough bed in the art and practical science room, surrounded by enthusiastically busy schoolgirls being taught art and science by Miss Hai. I was looking at the plaster casts on the neighbouring table, and wondering what on earth they had been taken for, and what in heaven was to happen to me.

"Your to be bathed shaved and waxed", announced the pretty blonde that had played decoy.

The chloroform was still stupefying my intellect, and I made no attempt to resist as I was helped from the bed and made to walk, stark naked as I was, into a neighbouring bathroom where lovely naked fourteen and fifteen-year-old girls, bathed my body of the residue of moulding wax and plaster-of-Paris, whilst showering my endless hair.

Despite my fears to the contrary, I found these girls had the skill to avoid getting my hair into an irrecoverable tangle, as they both showered it, gently shampooed it and, at one-and-the-same time ran a comb its full tumultuous length to keep it from knotting.

The girls giggled as they soaped my stupendous breasts, and I blushed at the familiar pleasure of having other lovely girls touch my intimate parts.

At their command, I rose and stood in the sunken bath. The Founding Mothers' Building was the former home of the Abbess, when St Catherine's had been a nunnery. It had since seen service as a private home, and as a guesthouse for VIP visitors: hence the bathroom.

The girls now delighted in foaming and shaving my lovely legs; not that they really needed re-shaving; I kept myself so gloriously smooth. My only protest came when they foamed my naughty and showed clear intention of re-shaving me between my legs. But even to that did I surrender in my still stupefied state: the state I remained half-in from my abduction.

Led from the bath by a pretty fifteen-year-old brunette, I submitted to a triple-ensuring waxing of my gorgeous ballet-dancer-muscular legs, and of the lips of my honeypot, whilst my head's hair, hanging to ground and coiled thereon beyond the end of the couch on which I lay face up, was being blown dry, brushed, and continuously combed.

All the while, this was accompanied by the music of girlish chatter and lovely giggles, as these burgeoning schoolgirls admired my lovely older-girl's body.

Talking to me in American-accented English, the decoy blonde suddenly told me: "Our mistress has a very important guest tonight. She has a very wealthy American chat-show hostess and her entourage at dinner. You will serve table and provide the entertainment."

In the way this was announced, there was no question that a question was unquestionably beyond question, and so I held my peace whilst my mind began to whir as I looked for some means of escape.

But how could I escape totally naked as I was, and surrounded by eight or ten girls as I was also?

An object and a window. A heavy object and an outside window. I recalled the advice I had been given in this very school. I would attract attention from the outside world by breaking a window from the inside of this room, by throwing something heavy at the glass to burst it noisily outwards.

Suddenly I shot up and grabbed a pottery bowl full of shaving foam. But, in that same instant, strong fingers were on my neck and I was paralysed.

Whether my captors had realised my intention or not, I could not be sure, but the same blonde, simply said: "We don't want to have to whip you Melody", thus conveying beyond doubt that they had authority so to do.

There was also something about the calmness in the voice of the girl warning me, that told me the threat was real and reality probably close at hand, so, instantly the pressure on my neck was released, I signalled my surrender by putting down the bowl.

Why had I sought to escape when I knew I was on school premises? So many have asked me that. What needs to be recalled is that I had been gassed: I had been chloroformed and was still stupefied and not my full highly intelligent self.

My magically glorious hair, my literal crowning glory, was blow-dried and combed and brushed to a sparkling shine, and I was now ready: but ready for what?

I was bade to stand up and they began to prepare me.

What was going on? Why were they bringing in what looked like the plastic legs used in stores to display stockings for sale? And why were there, what were obviously moulded hollow arms and hands as well as legs?

I watched with the fascination of horror. Of course, this was why they had been making casts of my body with the plaster-of-Paris! How they had managed to so speedily mould these hollow transparent plastic limbs from the moulds of plaster-of Paris so quickly, I would never know.

What I soon did know though, was that two girls were approaching me with what looked for all the world like the front and back plates worn by a knight in a suit of armour, save that the front and back of this 'suit of armour' were of the pliable transparent plastic, and the front piece had to make extremely generous allowance for my very feminine frontal attributes.

I had the back piece placed upon me. It fitted me like a moulded glove for, though not of course a glove, it was moulded from me and thus could not fail to fit. Then my distress began, for at the front, the moulded "breastplate" was shaped to fit my body down over my belly and to my hips, having hugged my ribcage, but not shaped to cover my superbly huge breasts in their natural firm soft shaped pendulous curvature. Instead it was going to take my massive glories and shape them, force them into two obscene huge mountainous perfectly formed cones out of the ends of which, as I was squeezed into it, my gorgeous nipples poked like the flames flickering up from twin volcanoes.

This was of course deliberate. As the attendant girls used the straps at the sides of the front and back plates to pull the plates together so that my upper body was fully encased within them, I looked down at my erotically squeezed and conicalised breasts, and my nipples poking from the ends of the cones, and noticed that just behind my nipples, the sides of the cones flattened off, and were screw-threaded for some reason on their outer ends.

Care had of course been taken to ensure I could breath, but the plates I wore were very tight and hugged me perfectly when my chest was out with my sweet exhalations.

Now they brought to me a hollow moulded arm. An arm that had been moulded from my own lovely arm. My chest and back plates covered up to my neck including, therefore, my shoulders. And, at my shoulders, there were grooves into which could be mated the top of the moulded arm, the left arm transparent plastic cast that my real live left arm was now being encased within.

My left arm was encased in the cast, one side of which was split so it could be eased open to admit my real arm, and thereafter strapped shut to rigidly contain and control my real arm. A check was made that my encased arm would rotate forward and backwards in the groove at my shoulder: it could, but it could make no other movement. And I had now got my arm tight strapped in the casting moulded from it, and was having my right arm bound within the transparent rigid plastic that had been moulded from it too, and it too checked for the single movement it could make.

Each plastic arm cast finished at my slender wrists with a similar groove to that at my shoulders where my arm casts mated with my front and back upper-body casts. To these grooves at my wrists, I now had the "gloves" moulded ready from my pretty hands, fitted over my lovely fingers. In these moulds allowance had even been made to encase my fingernails and the School Slag's ring I wore.

Now that my hands and arms were both encased, I noticed that my arms were rigidly held bent at the elbow, and my hands fixedly turned upwards with the thumb, which I could articulate slightly, held up from the fingers, which were in turn curved up rigidly and immovably. My arms and hands combined were thus held in positions of subservience, offering permanently rigidly, to hold something for a superior.

Some haste now seemed to be going into my preparation, as I heard the word "inspection".

Brought to fit to me next, to fit indeed to the groove at the base of my front and back-plates which went over my hips, were two halves of a pair of rigid transparent plastic panties, the rear of which was clasped around my delectable thighs, and into the groove at the bottom of my back-plate. They soon covered my divinely huge delightfully firm derriere at rear. But at front, care had to be taken. At front, the panties included a little circular funnel that would just hold open the sensitive lips of my sweet virgin naughty, and care must be taken not to harm my purity.

I noticed the funnel in my 'panty' fronts, and that the same funnel protruded out as well as entering into me, and that where it protruded out, as with the ends to my breast cones, there was, for some reason, an outward facing screw-thread.

It did not go without being noticed by the girls strapping the sides of my rigid transparent plastic panties to hold them in place, that there was wonderfully musky lubrication to aid the insertion of the love funnel within my naughty nude-shaven and waxed naughty.

At the bottom of the panties too, running all around the tops of my superlative thighs therefore, were grooves with which to mate what came next. And what came next were the rigid transparent hollow plastic legs down to and including feet that I must wear.

These were extremely erotic. my legs were exceptionally powerful, and equally exceptionally shapely and beautiful. And so too must the moulds take on and hold in place their exceptional strength, shapeliness and beauty, and they did. These moulds were wrapped around my glorious legs and their split-open-sides were strapped tight at intervals down the insides of my thunderous thighs and my compelling calves, so that my legs were held rigid at the knee, on constant super-tiptoe.

With these moulds fitted, I now stood on tip-of-tip-of-tiptoe, where the moulds containing my powerful legs had been squared-off, so as to enable me to stand so. And I must stand so, without the aid of heels, for I wore no shoes but stood on tiptoe in my moulded rigid leg encasing transparent plastic moulds, only able to articulate them sufficiently to step straight-legged, perhaps one or two inches at a time, as I was yet to discover.

I was indeed yet to discover if I could move at all, because they were finishing my fittings. Around my hips they were fixing a rigidly flared-out plastic mockery of a micro-micro-micro-mini-skirt which, apart from being fully transparent in any case, stuck out as if I was in a constant twirl, hiding nothing of my encased delicious derriere domes, or my tunnel penetrated completely naked-shaven naughty.

Finally they gently took up my crowning glory, my wonderfully heavenly heavy head of hair, and fastened over my face, covering me right up to my freckled forehead, and fitting it at its base into the mating groove in my front chest plate around my neck, and also fixing a matching rear half, my head-mask.

This was terrifying for me, as it covered my gorgeous innocent delightfully slightly-lightly-tanned and sexily-freckled schoolgirl face over entirely. Fitting like a glove to my nose and cheekbones with holes to let me breath through my nostrils, it ignored the fact I had ears, leaving but two tiny holes for me to hear through, just encasing my pretty ears within its horrible embrace. At the front it took my perfect lips into a wholly obscene wide inviting "O", by means of a funnel that entered my lovely mouth sufficiently far to hold my teeth wide apart.

They arranged my hair, which now tumbled out of the top of my full-face mask, covering the back of my mask, and dangled divinely over my delectable derriere and my tremendously powerful thighs.

I was robotised. I had been purposely robotised. I was robotised and thus contained and controlled beyond any means of my resisting!

And to me within my robotised imprisonment? To me this felt by very very far, the sexiest thing that I had ever experienced in my tender young life. Here I was, in truth an extremely shy girl, forcibly displayed, obscenely displayed, for all the world to see, and as hopelessly helplessly bound within my transparent plastic robotising mouldings, as if I were cocooned.

Two gentle hands took my imprisoned hands, and led me in my slow very stiff robotic rigid-legged tiptoe walk, the only walk I could manage in my imprisoning suit, to where I could see myself in a full-length mirror. And I saw the extremely erotic sight of a supremely beautiful schoolgirl, imprisoned from head to tip-of-tip-of-tiptoed feet in transparent plastic, showing my everything to the world, more totally nakedly than if I were in fact completely bare: with my glorious strong legs long stretched and pointing to mother earth by their big toes, and my shapely hips decorated with the obscenely flared out mock and mocking micro-micro-micro-mini-skirt, and my arms held always submissively forward with my sweet palms and fingers upturned to serve, and my wild blonde hair tumbling in glory, down beyond the balloons of my encased bare bottom, my mouth held in a sexually inviting constant "O", and my stupendously huge breasts coned gigantically straight-out from my chest like two massive mountainous sun-tanned volcanoes, exposing raspberry-pink nipple as if erupting lava exploded from their tips. And the girls that had bound me thus heard my gargled cry of ecstasy and knew that I was girl: wilfully wild wet wanting wanton and willing girl.

…………

"Is the whore ready? I have important guests waiting!" demanded a voice from behind me, which I could only just hear through my muffling mask, as all eight of the girls that had robotised me turned and curtsied to their mistress, Miss Hai.

The school had a very important guest. This was the Founding Mothers' Building. St Catherine's Academy could not survive on school-fees alone. To charge too-high fees would detract from its mission to find and educate the brightest girls regardless of any girl's pecuniary position.

To charge high fees would bring about the exclusiveness St Catherine's did not seek. St Catherine's did not want exclusiveness from cost; it wanted inclusiveness of intellect. Accordingly, St Catherine's was always scouting for the generosity of a 'Founding Mother', so called after the Victorian widows who had banded together to leave in their individual wills, all their worldly wealth for the benefit of the academy.

It had been in the Victorian era, around the 1870s, that income from fees alone had begun to leave the school embarrassed from a shortfall against running costs. In order to try and save the day, the school had doubled the number of girls admitted, but that had only been a temporary palliative.

Only one among the aforementioned wealthy Victorian widows had been an old-Cathrinian, but that had been sufficient, as her able proselytising had recruited the others, and an arranged presence of the widows as witnesses at the 1875 Maiden-Mead making event in the Wicked Wench, had sealed the deal.

Although not strictly Founding Mothers' of the school, the four widows had been honoured in their lifetime with the title of 'Founding Mother', and so had been any other wealthy lady willing to donate a million dollars or more in their lifetimes or in their wills.

Miss Hai, Kimi Hai was on trust to entertain a very wealthy and famous American chat-show hostess who had indicated she was willing to finance the school for the honour of being able to call herself a 'Founding Mother'.

"Where are you manners whore?!" Miss Hai was demanding, very clearly looking straight at the imprisoned me.

"Try as I might, I, though I wanted to show my subservience, could not bend at the knee and thus could not curtsy to Miss Kimi Hai.

"I'll teach you manners you little slut. You clearly need to learn some discipline. I've had you bound to obey, so you are bound to obey: and obey, have not one single moment of doubt, you absolutely and totally unquestioningly will!" Miss Hai sneered.

"You are a slut and a slattern and a whore. You are an undisciplined harlot: a harlot with pretension to brains, and just you look at where your supposed brains have got you, you filthy little whore!!"

"I have guests, including one very important person, a potential Founder waiting next door, and you are going in there right now to serve my VIP to her demand. And don't you dare let me down! Don't you dare let me down you filthy whore!!"

…………….

My lovely light-blue eyes closed with the pain these insults caused me. Behind the flat lenses in my facemask, my lovely eyes closed as if I were flinching from a whip, so savagely sharp to my innocent young girl's ears, were the verbal barbs I had just endured.

I had no choice other than to obey Miss Hai of course. In my transparent plastic robotising costume, I was as imprisoned as any girl behind iron bars: indeed more so.

It was impossible for me to tremble in fear in my robotised state without my robotisation multiplying the effect. And so it was a frightened and shaking, rigidly erect tip-of-top-of-big-toe-steepled, lasciviously long legged, goose-stepping, tanned-bodied, glorious long-blonde-haired wonder of sexual invitation, that tippy-tiptoe wiggle-goose-stepped submissively behind Miss Hai to face Miss Hai's guest and submit to her wishes.

In constant threat of falling, I obediently followed my mistress, my obscenely conicalised breasts pointing the way the rest of my robotisised body must follow.

The heat in my erotising robotising bondage suit was horrendous. The only parts of my delicious schoolgirl-soft skin that could breath were the top of my head, my "O" wide opened mouth, my protruding nipples, and my gaped naughty.

The perspiration that longed to escape to cool me, thus made my divinely soft lightly-tanned skin hug to the insides of my robotisation the more closely clingingly, so that I was become one and the same as my transparent outer shell.

At the end of my conicalised breasts, my raspberry-pink nipples were eye-catchingly swollen and dripping translucent diamonds of my salty sweet girl-sweat.

As I obeyed, by wiggling long leggidly behind my mistress, the heat of my body was only matched by the heat of my mind. The heat of my body escaped the little it could through the clear diamond droplets adrip from my sensationally startlingly succulent, sensitive strawberry-red nipples. The heat of my mind was escaping the only way it could, through the moistness that my naughty was secreting, the secret secretions of a sexual girl in the supreme sweet heat of succulent surrender.

As Miss Hai entered the room where her guests were assembled, Miss Hai stepped aside, and a very audible gasp of overwhelmingly astonished delight followed by spontaneous rapturous applause broke out at the sight of the naked robotised beauty that wiggle-stepped into full view: the sexually contained gloriously blonde-hair-crowned, erotically robotised lightly-slightly-tanned-bodied electric-blue-eyed me.

"My god Kimi, what a heavenly girl!" cried an American accented voice, the voice of the woman, the one woman in an all female gathering, who appeared to be the girl that Miss Hai was looking most to please.

"Her name is Melody Smith. She is, as I informed you, the current School Slag" Miss Hai announced to the much older, but very attractive woman, who was ogling the imprisoned me with openly obvious pleasure.

"As I explained" Miss Hai continued, "Melody has been on 'work experience' this week in the academy's library".

"My god, Kimi, I'd be there every day for my books for this babe! What a honey!!"

"She is here this evening to serve and entertain you". Miss Hai announced.

Miss Hai and the talk show hostess then exchanged a look at this confirmation, that it was just as well I did not see.

"You don't say Kimi?"

"Fully for your obedience ma'am" said Miss Hai

"Oh my god Kimi! Oh my god!" was all the answer that came from the astonished and overwhelmingly pleased guest.

"You told me your intimate dream. You thus told me your wish. Your wish is our command. Melody is dressed as in your intimate dream. Melody is thus dressed to your command. Melody is your erotic dream come true", Miss Hai mock-bowed, with a pre-flourish of one hand in circular motion before her.

"Oh my god Kimi! Oh my god!" was all this woman, the normally endlessly loquacious hostess, the queen of the daytime chat show, appeared able to utter.

Such was my exceptional beauty, that had I been dressed as any modern girl might dress in normality, I would in any case have been the sole centre of attention in that gathering. My cruel erotic robotising bondage only served to add to my overwhelmingly stunning attractiveness, and all eyes were consequently constantly caressing the complex of complicated curves this curvaceous coquette comprised.

Every woman and girl there ran her eyes constantly up and down and around my astonishing body, in its savage tip-of-tiptoe standing robotic enslavement. Every woman and girl there switched ravishingly from my delightful derriere, to my languorous legs, to my thunderous thighs, to my tremendous hair, to my lovely face, to my delicious electric-blue eyes, to my "Owed" mouth with its sexy darting moist pink tongue, and my superbly kissable lips, to my lovely slim arms held submissively servilely by my bondage, to my pretty hands held palms up, begging to please, and to my lollypops, monumentally mountained out cruelly mockingly, and my erupting nipples provoking like the flames of desire from my volcanoised breasts, with diamonded perspiration droplets tipping them.

I was sexy. I was sexual. I was sex. I was sexy girl. I was sexual girl. I was supreme girl. I was extreme girl. I was girl!

I was robotised and erotised. Every beyond-wonderful square micro-millimetre of my girlness sighed sex. Every woman and girl at the Founding Mothers' dinner table, or helping in service to their mistress, Miss Hai, longed to bed this beauty. Every woman and girl was compelled to look at me. Every woman and girl saw in me, a combination an assembly of the multitudinous components of the beauty that is girl. Every woman and girl looked at whichever component of me, most turned them on to the beauty of girl.

They looked mostly at my bottom, at my legs, at my breasts, at my hair, at my face, or at my arms. But every woman and girl saw the part of me that most turned them on, not in isolation, but as a particular quintessence within the quintessential whole of a very girl girl.

However, had a camera been there to record the focus of all eyes at the moment that I obediently submissively turned to tiptoe strut to the kitchen to fetch for my mistress at table, it would have shown a surprising and complete unanimity of focus on a locus of surprisingly supreme eroticism. As I turned my deliciously-tanned-brown white-girl gorgeousness to wiggle my bummy in my supreme extreme girlness, all eyes, unknown to the unity, all eyes were single-mindedly, delightfully enlighteningly, engaged in gorging themselves on the sweetly contrasting pristine white of the soles of my superbly pretty feet.

I was obedient from my soul to my soles. The surprising whiteness of the soles of my lovely stretched tiptoed feet served only to contrast with the superlative flawless complexion of my lightly-tanned body; just as the very perfection of my slightly-lightly tanned complexion served to make the whiteness of the soles of my gorgeous feet the more extremely orgasmically erotic.

Inside my transparent plastic moulded robotic bondage, I had no idea of the flurry of erotic arousal the mere soles of my feet were causing. I could not help being sexy: I was girl: all girl. And the locus of the focus of the attention of the women and girls I wiggled my obedient way among, being the soles of my deliciously delectable feet, only served to confirm that I was indeed and absolutely girl, from my tip-top-top to my tiptoe-topped-toes. I knew not where the locus of the focus of the eyes all around me was, and would have been shocked, and have very sexily sighed with embarrassment, had I been surprised by being apprised of the focus of their eyes. I could not help being sexy: I was girl: all girl.

Inside my transparent plastic moulded robotic bondage, I had no idea of the flurry of erotic arousal the mere soles of my feet were causing. Inside my transparent plastic moulded robotic bondage, I knew only the two heats. I endured the heat from my divine body being unable to breath in the close clinging sumptuous curvature controlling and containing plastic 'armour' I was forced to wear. And I knew the heat of my super-erotic arousal: an arousal that shamed me. An arousal that my mind told me was very dirty and extremely naughty. An arousal that filled me with guilt. An arousal that my highly intelligent mind told me was unforgivably wrong. An arousal that shocked me. An arousal, the overpowering musky scent of the product of which, within my naughty, betrayed me by telling the truth of me: I was girl.

My mind fought against it but my body persistently insisted and despite all my mental effort, my body was girl: my beautiful bound body was all sexual and sexy, wanting and wanton, wicked and willing, brown-tanned girl.

I was ordered to serve table solely for Miss Hai's guest of honour. I tiptoe-wiggled obediently submissively, adoring the wolf whistles jeers and cheers that followed my sensational robotised tiny-steppy-wiggle-walk-strut, wherever I went from kitchen to table at the bidding of my American talk-show hostess, guest mistress and hoped for donation gift giving Founder.

I was truly thoroughly deeply shocked at my own submissiveness. My unquestioning obedience. My unchallenging endurance of my robotisation torture stunned my mind. And the very fact that, despite my mind screaming that this was wrong, so very, very wrong, my enforced unquestioning submission and submissiveness was turning me on. My body's misuse and abuse and its disobedience of my screaming thoughts, turned me on sexually.

And the attention I was getting? I loved having all the eyes of the other girls compulsively constantly ogling me. I adored being so sexually exposed. In truth told I was such a shy girl, the fact that I was being forced to display the whole of my beautiful body for the whole of the world so see, shamed me, shied me, and yet again stimulated and aroused me.

As I obediently carried dishes and wine and cleared table between courses, my lovely light-blue eyes opened and closed reflecting in my enforced "Owed" mouthed silence, the state of my confused mind, as my mind went around in a whirl trying to fight the evil to which the very girlness my extremely completely utterly feminine body was betraying me to.

And I had picked up on how the soles of my feet, on constant display as I was forced to walk on the very tip-top of my big toes, were turning the other girls on. I realised the contrast the other girls were enjoying, had its encapsulation in my tiptoed feet. Within my captivating beauty, self-containedly, I displayed the erotic contest of the contrast between my still summer-tanned body and the white soles of my feet. I had realised that the contrast between the whiteness of the soles of my feet and the comparative tannedness of the rest of my feet was compellingly beautiful, and compelling the eyes of the girls who had me under their compulsion, to look at my feet and adore them.

As I bent my robotised body to pick up a used plate, and thus stiffly slightly lowered my volcanoised breasts for my hostess to assess admire and adore once more, my mind screamed "NO! You are a schoolgirl of the highest intelligence, with a brain that will see you easily to a brilliant doctorate. Your body is beautiful and you body is yours not theirs!! What right have they to display you this way?! What right have they to bind you and imprison you and make you do their every bidding?!" And as my mind so thought, so my centred slit secreted siren secretions of supremely strong scent.

…………

"Has the little whore been serving you well, ma'am?" Miss Hai enquired of her honoured guest in my hearing, as I did my best to pour coffee, using my robotised hands.

"She has been far too slow," the hostess from prime time TV complained.

Miss Hai instantly clapped her hands to call the attention of the lovely little blonde that had acted as decoy for my abduction.

"Hornetise the whore!" she commanded.

"Yes ma'am" the blonde honey, curtsied to her mistress.

Then the blonde took my plastic robotically gloved hand and led the stunning beauty that I was, around to the front of the dining table, where I was given to understand I must stand and wait in clear view of the guest-of-honour.

I stood in my obedient tiptoed glory, my gorgeous electric-blue eyes cast down submissively. All sex, and all sexy and all sexual and all girl, I would have lowered my head to show my complete obedience had my head mask allowed me. My mind had completely given in to my body, and I was now all willing slave to my sexiness my sensuality my sexuality my girlness.

Yet my eyes lifted from submissive base as they must with surprise and then shock and then horror at what I saw being put on the table in front of Miss Hai and her guest, and thus openly in front of my robotised serenely beautiful body.

First to be placed there, was an old-fashioned scent spray bottle, with a rigid elongated nozzle and the kind of rubber bulb used to eject spray, that went out of style with the invention of the pressurised aerosol.

But this was nothing to what came next: for what came next were three transparent plastic globes, open at the one end, save for some kind of sheath that must be there to prevent the escape of what these plastic globes contained. And what these three plastic globes contained was nothing less than live, very live, very lively, huge vicious hornets: gigantic wasps.

Each of these globes, globes made of the same transparent plastic as my robotic suit, contained three huge hornets, save the third, which contained six.

My eyes were now wider than wide with horror. And, as if it were done every day, the pretty blonde picked up one of the globes, and was watched with the terror of fascination on my exquisite face, as she used the screw thread on the outside of the tip top of my right breast, to screw the globe gently but firmly and immovably over my already swollen and sweet sweat dripping right nipple.

As the blonde screwed the globe over my hitherto bare nipple, I could see that the globe included a number of holes so the horrible insects could breath, a membrane behind which the insects frolicked and crawled, and a gross or more of in-facing very sharp, needle sharp, spikes.

I was frightened as the first globe was screwed over my right nipple, horrified as the second globe was screwed over my left nipple, and petrified as the globe containing the six vicious hornets was screwed to the end of the tube that led up into my purposely gaped naughty lips.

Her task done, the pretty blonde fellow-schoolgirl turned and curtsied to Miss Hai and the hoped for Founding Mother, the American talk-show hostess.

"Burst the membranes then, you stupid bitch!" Miss Hai sighed. And the little girl, so rudely and crudely reminded, nervously gripped a metal rod, which she poked in turn through the breathing-holes in the globes screwed onto my nipples and over the tunnel to my sex, to pull away the soft plastic sheath that had previously covered and protected my bare flesh, so that the hornets were able to rest themselves now on the honey sweet girl-softness of my teats, rising and falling with a constant throb from the heave of my totally, but totally terrified breathing.

All the membranes were pierced in turn, till I stood rigid with my eyes almost crossed as I stared in fixated horror at the huge hornets in the globes attached to cones ending in my sweet nipples. I felt the horrible tickling feet of the hornets resting themselves on my bare nipples, with their bodies rhythmically undulating: their tail ends bobbing dancingly horribly up and down.

"They cannot stand lavender" Miss Hai informed her guest as the blonde picked up the scent spray and inserted its nozzle into each of the globes on my nipples in turn, and squirted.

And after she had squirted the lavender on my gorgeous nipples, so within spilt seconds the hornets went wild with anger and, wings buzzing with fury, dug their long horrible stings into my nipples and pumped in their poison, and I screamed inhumanly as my nipples were stung and the pain of the stings and my nipples swelling massively in reaction ballooned my beautiful nipples to agonise them on the multiple spikes inside the globes which my excruciatingly painful nipples shot massively to fill as the hornets stung my lovely soft flesh a second and third time in defence against their being crushed by my swelling tortured nipples and I screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed uncontrollably.

And kneeling between my legs as two other girls held my threshing tortured body steady, the lovely blonde had inserted the long stiff nozzle of the scent spray through the breathing-holes in the globe over the end of the tube leading into my moist naughty, and sprayed liberally within my heaven centre. And the six immediately angry hornets flew buzzing louder than a rotary saw into my naughty, and stung me unmercifully. And I, now tight gripped in the hold of my tormentors, screeched my total, my absolutely total agony, as my sex lips swelled with the terrible, terrible pain of the hornets stings. And I screamed as the walls of my naughty swelled, and as they swelled with the stings, the hornets felt threatened by my swelling and stung my inner sex on its super-sensitive walls again and again, to agonise the screeching me, so that I screamed and screeched as the walls of my sex swelled-in to meet each other and thus defend my girl-honour. But they were too late, and I screamed a terrible crescendo screech, as my hugely ballooning sex's walls crushed in on each other, and a tell tale trickle of squeezed out girl-juice, my natural and profuse girl-lubrication, trailed from my naughty into the globe at the end of the tube leading into my heaven.

And my naughty dripped my fresh-squeezed sexual wine, as my still swelling nipples spiked within the globes they were nearly bursting, bled from the spikes their swelling had driven deep into them. And as I was stung repeatedly more in my naughty by the vile vicious violent violating hornets, I was moved to moan with a different tone. For I had now accepted my lowly place in the girl-world, and that I was at soul solely to surrender to sexual slavery, and the salivating salaciousness of my sisters singularly so satisfied.

And I wanted the pain to reign and confirm me as a servile subject of its thrown. I wanted to be adored by my peers: by the other beautiful girls, but to be their inferior and endure the consequences of having to learn my inconsequence. And my highly intelligent mind gave way to my forceful, fully fundamental female animality. And my screams were no longer of agony but of treasured pleasure.

And I moaned and groaned and sighed wantonly openly as I enjoyed enduring my total total agony, and as the swelling waves of my first orgasm took me to ecstasy and far beyond, to be followed by a second stronger still, a third stronger still than the second, and a fourth that took me into a screeching howling inhuman human surrender, mind body and soul to the power of my naughty, the power of my femaleness, the end of my girlity, and the start of my womanhood, as a fifth screeching orgasm shook me to painful rigidity once more, and I all but fainted with the exhaustion of enjoying enduring my uninhibited, openly exhibited, overpoweringly powerful pleasure, at the dawning of my womanhood and the shedding of my innocence: the completely savage taking and forsaking of my heavenly girlness through the wanton wicked wasp-rape of my womb to womanhood, as I gasped and screamed and cried, head to toe and toe to head one whole body of immeasurable unrelievable unbelievable unrelenting orgasm and pain and pain and orgasm…….

……..Miss Hai's honoured guest of that terrible evening for me, now has her name carved, with the carving highlighted in gold-leaf, on the Founding Mothers' Honour Board in the St Catherine's Academy's main entrance. I had bought and brought her multi-million dollar lifetime donation by my horrible, and horribly-wonderful, robotic torture and wasp-rape. I had no award, or reward, or honour. It had been my duty as the School Slag to obey my mistresses: and obey I had. Though there was undoubted honour in being the St Catherine's Academy School Slag, there was no concomitant honour board.