| Boarding School for Girls, Part 1 At the beginning of the driveway to the main school building, a wooden sign in the school colours of gold lettering on a maroon background read, ‘Elysian Fields Preparatory School for Girls. Headmistress: Miss F M Smythe B.A. M.Ed. “Well we’re finally here sweetheart, your new school” Jackie Peterson remarked to Clare her 8-year old daughter. The wheels of the car crunched on the gravel as it approached the front entrance of the school. Clare sat stony faced and didn’t answer. “I know it will seem strange living away from home, but you’ll soon get used to it and make lots of new friends. And I’ll come and visit some weekends,” her mother continued. In the reception hall they were greeted by the school secretary Mrs Johnson, a prim and proper looking woman of 38, who warmly shook both their hands, “Nice to meet you again Mrs Peterson, and you too Clare.” She buzzed through to the headmistress, then after a brief conversation affirmed, “Miss Smythe will see you both now.” Jackie reassuringly took hold of her daughter’s hand, and Mrs Johnson led them through a door on which there was a brass plate bearing the legend, ‘Fiona Smythe, Headmistress’. Miss Smythe, an elegant 35-year old (Jackie thought), bade them to sit down and went through some final bits of paperwork before turning her attentions to little Clare. “Well young lady, I’m sure you’ll like it here. We’re a pretty friendly bunch. If you have any questions or problems don’t be afraid to ask any of us for help.” She pulled open one of her desk drawers and produced a shiny new mobile phone. Looking intently into Clare’s eyes, she went on, “You should carry this with you at all times. It’s how us staff and students keep in touch. I’ve already programmed in some numbers for you – mine, Mrs Johnson, Matron, Miss Shawcross – your house tutor, and Cheryl Masters – she’s the senior girl in your house and as such has been assigned to help you get settled in.” Miss Smythe handed the phone to Jackie, “Mrs Peterson, perhaps you could add your own contact numbers while Clare goes to see Matron”. Mrs Johnson took Clare out of the office and off towards Matron’s room. The plaque on the door said ‘Miranda Cavendish, Matron’. Eleanor tapped on the door. “Enter!”. Miranda was a voluptuous brunette of 31. She stood there with her hands on hips in a navy blue nurse’s dress made from shiny satin, and unbuttoned far enough to reveal the full cleavage of her ample bosom. Looking deep into Clare’s bright blue eyes she enthused, “My-oh-my, you are a little cutie! That will be all Mrs Johnson”. Eleanor Johnson withdrew, closing the door behind her. Matron picked up a file from her desk and glanced through it, “Well your mummy has told me most of your medical history. From what I can see you’re a pretty healthy little girl. I just need to do a few basic checks, and then we’ll issue you with your school uniform”. Matron put Clare on the scales and then measured her height. “Now, just take all your clothes off and hop up onto the examination table when you’re ready.” “Everything?” quizzed Clare. “Yes, everything.” Clare looked a bit aghast, but she assumed that this was just like a visit to the doctor’s. She soon slipped out of her jean shorts, t-shirt, socks and shoes, and after a brief pause to smooth her collar length blond hair, she slid her panties down to her ankles, stepped out of them and made herself comfortable on the trolley. Miranda stuck a thermometer into Clare’s mouth, and carried out more checks, such as heart and lungs, pulse, and blood pressure. Unable to speak, Clare could only admire this beautiful woman. She couldn’t make up her mind what she liked best about her, whether it was the bold classy make-up, the six pairs of gold hoops in her ears, the shiny gelled hair pulled into a tight ponytail, or the fantasy angel tattoo which covered the whole of her upper arm. Eventually Miranda pulled the thermometer out to scrutinise it. “Good. All perfectly normal so far. Now Clare, I need you to lie comfortably on your left side, facing away from me. Bend your right leg and pull your knee up as far as you can.” Clare fidgeted into position and nervously watched Matron put a latex surgical glove on her right hand. Miranda picked up a tube of K-Y and spread a generous amount onto her index finger. “There’s nothing to be alarmed about honey, I just need to check up inside your bottom,” she smiled. “Umm, what for?” Clare asked. “It’s just routine, to make sure everything is OK down there. We do get a lot of problems with threadworms, so all you girls have to be checked regularly.” Miranda grinned lasciviously and tenderly lifted up the flesh of Clare’s right buttock and ran her finger round the tight little rosebud, gently rubbing some K-Y round it. “Here we go now honey, this shouldn’t be too uncomfortable.” Clare grimaced and grunted slightly as the finger penetrated her anus, but she thought that it didn’t feel too bad after all. Miranda pushed the finger in as far as the second knuckle, wriggling it around firmly but gently. Claire started to moan “Mmmmm.” Miranda slowly withdrew the finger and admired as the gapping hole delightfully twitched when it clamped shut. She looked satisfied. “No problems there,” she smiled, “Now let’s get you kitted out. But first you can have a sweetie for being such a good little girl.” Clare bounced off the trolley and teasingly rubbed her buttocks as she skipped over to Miranda’s desk on which stood a large jar of sweets. Her hand dove in and picked out a big chocolate in a blue wrapper. Miranda went to open up a cardboard box, pulled out three piles of clothes, and set them down on the trolley. In one pile was Clare’s formal uniform, the next her sports kit, and lastly her casual clothes. “Put on your school uniform, and let’s see what a smart girl you’re gonna be!” chirped Matron. Claire got into her uniform which was markedly different to the traditional style of her previous school. It consisted of: a silvery-white chiffon blouse which was of crop-top length with short sleeves, a satin navy blue mini-skirt which was just long enough for modesty’s sake, a maroon satin blouson, white pop-sox, a tiny white satin g-string, and a pair of maroon patent shoes with 2” heels. Miranda had to help Clare put on the gold silk bowtie, “You’ll soon be able to do this yourself.” Finally Clare put on the shiny gold baseball cap, which Matron skewed to the side to give the little girl that irresistible impish look. Clare looked through her other items of kit, “Umm there’s no swimsuit here. I’m sure Miss Smythe said we’d be doing swimming.” “That’s right,” Miranda replied firmly, “but no clothing is allowed to be worn anywhere in the pool area. You have to go naked - it’s an unbreakable rule. Now let’s go and see what your mum and headmistress think of you!”. Fiona and Jackie were chatting and smoking, and looked impressed upon Clare’s return. Jackie exchanged some final pleasantries with headmistress and handed Clare her mobile, now clipped onto a long loop of cord. Clare proudly hung her new phone round her neck, and Jackie kissed her daughter on the lips and made her farewells. Miss Smythe took out her own mobile phone and pressed a couple of buttons, “Cheryl, your new student is ready for you now.” Cheryl Masters, a bubbly red-headed girl, arrived a few minutes later. Her uniform was similar to Clare’s but with a few important differences. As a ‘senior girl’ she wore a shiny gold chiffon blouse with a maroon silk bowtie, and she was also afforded the luxury of gold seamed stockings, and her shoes were also maroon patent, but 3” stilettos. “Hi Clare! I’m Cheryl, the senior girl in your house. Here, let me help you take all your stuff up to the dorm.” Clare couldn’t help but admire the chunky gold rings in 12-year old girl’s nipples which were standing out quite erect under the fine material of her blouse, the three pairs of pretty studs in her ears, and the pale pretty makeup on her lips, eyes, and nails. They got up to the dormitory where there were 12 beds, arranged in two rows. “Welcome to Alpha House,” announced Cheryl. She patted one of the beds (which was on the end of one of the two rows) and said, “Here we are Clare, this one’s yours. You’re directly opposite me. Now let me help you get unpacked before the others get here.” |