The Petworthy Finishing School

"Well, Miss Wordsmith, do you think that is a reaction that the good girls of Nebraska are typically inclined to feel when a woman touches their bottom?" Mitten didn't look up because they were close enough to kiss. The woman's thrusting chest was just below her chin level.

"No Headmistress."

Mitten's voice was barely audible. There was a softening in the Headmistress' voice.

"The things that you are expected not to feel as a young lady here in Nebraska, are some of the characteristics that we are looking for in the girls we groom at Petworthy." She reached out and this time without any clandestine impression of propriety captured Mitten's small perky breasts in her tender grip.

"Ooooohhh." The sound emanated from someplace guttural and instinctual in Mitten. She felt her eyes open wide and helpless which caused the corners of Mrs. Cashmere's mouth to turn up in satisfaction as one hand slid down her tummy towards her mons. Now the purposes of the Headmistress were becoming suspect and she was at a place where she thought that she might abandon her desire to obey Daddy or the woman.

"Wh...why.....are you....doing that to me?" Mitten's words were painful whispers that stood in stark juxtaposition from the feeling the Headmistress' hand was producing as she pressed gently on her mount. The woman's voice never wavered as if she was in the middle of a conversation over a recipe.

"My examination of your person will encompass anything that will affect your ability to fetch a husband of the proper quality. You may end the examination at any time, young lady. However, no girl has entered Petworthy without submitting to it."

She withdrew her hand and suddenly the gravity of Mitten's resistance was put on display. Though she found the examination humiliating, Mitten being exposed as being defiant and disobedient felt far more degrading. Her eyes were flooding but she still resisted the desire to cry. She sniffled and took a deep breath.

"Please continue, Headmistress." Mrs. Cashmere pointed to the chair she was just sitting in.

"Very well. Sit."

"Yes, Headmistress."

She carefully sat down leaving her legs closed. The Headmistress, uncharacteristically, knelt down in front of Mitten, who watched attentively. When she spoke next, Mrs. Cashmere's voice was softer and encouraging.

"You're doing fine, Lavinia," she said gently touching the outside of her knee. "Now, I want you to show me your sex."

Mitten's eyes were wide, but spurred by the gentleness of the request, she slowly opened her legs.

"Lift your feet up on the chair and use your fingers to spread it." This was still gentle but more firm. Mitten's heart slammed in her chest, because she felt so vulnerable. More than anything she wanted to be dressed and holding her Daddy. Compliantly, she lifted her feet up to the leather seat, and the motion caused her legs to spread in an even more pronounced manner. She let her fingers go to her labia and carefully spread them for the Headmistress' scrutinizing eyes. She could feel the involuntarily produced slickness there from her sex, her body betraying her emotions about what was happening.

"That's very good, Miss Wordsmith," Mrs. Cashmere said quietly. Her eyes were seemingly mesmerized by Mitten's splayed sex. The more intense and desirous her gaze became, the more Mitten felt her own confused arousal being displayed in the form of wetness in the well of her opening. So pronounced was it, that as she actually felt a small trickle escape the aperture and slide down the crack of her bum.

"Oh...nooo...." It was the first soft sob she allowed herself. Mrs. Cashmere didn't avert her gaze but still sounded reassuring.

"So, Miss Wordsmith, part of you very much enjoys this very much despite your protestations." Mitten's expression was pained and embarrassed.

"Yes...Headmistress," she managed.

"You shouldn't be embarrassed, Lavinia. This is something that we are trying to cultivate in our girls. Your body seems to respond sexually whether you want it to or not. That's a rare ability that we both share."

Then she carefully extended her finger and delicately traced it around the hood where the source of Mitten's body betrayal was swelling out from its hiding place.

"mmmmmmmmmm......" Then, abruptly in comparison, Mrs. Cashmere pushed her index finger completely into the girl's yawning sex which spontaneously gripped it tightly.

"AAAHHH!"

Mitten's breathing was now spontaneously labored and not controlled. Her eyes were wild and shocked both by what was being done to her and how it felt. Mrs. Cashmere moved her finger in and out several times, each time bumping into the filmy, tough hymen which protected her sex. For the first time, Mitten gave ground to her body's expressions and her eyes went sleepy.

"Do you want me to stop, Miss Wordsmith?"

"No, Headmistress."

The answer was instant and surprising to her. The Headmistress allowed a small smile and continued moving her long finger in and out of her. Slowly, Mitten's mouth began to open into an "O" and her hips began to move in rhythm with Mrs. Cashmere's penetrations.

"Uh....uh....uh...." Mitten was unaware of what was happening except that she was reaching for something and that Mrs. Cashmere was taking her there. She began to feel something deep within her welling up and she caught her breath as if holding it would usher it closer. As she did, Mrs. Cashmere cruelly withdrew her finger.

Mitten's eyes shot open wild and desperate. With a smile, the Headmistress daubed her finger, slickened with the girl's lubrications, on the tip of her tongue, before she retrieved a handkerchief from her purse and dried it. Slowly, Mitten let her legs down, without bothering to close them, innately hoping that the Headmistress would touch her again, though she knew not why she did. The Headmistress rose up in front of her and looked down with a small expression of approval.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it? Stand up, please."

Unevenly, Mitten got to her feet and stood at relative attention as she did before, the inside of her thighs smearing with her secretions. Mrs. Cashmere regarded the seat Mitten was just sitting in and then wiped down the leather with her handkerchief, further causing her to be embarrassed. Then she sat down again and situated herself comfortably looking up at her reluctant charge. She reached into her purse and produced a small wooden paddle about six inches long and three inches wide with rounded contours. Mitten wasn't surprised by this aspect of the interview process.

"Are you going to spank me, Headmistress?" Her eyes were leveled and somewhat more confident than before.

"Is that going to be a problem, young lady?"

"No, Headmistress."

"Lay across my lap, please."

"Yes, Headmistress."

Tentatively, Mitten positioned herself at a 45 degree angle from Mrs. Cashmere and carefully laid across the woman's lap.

"Farther over."

Mitten took the instruction and scooted forward until she could reach the floor with her hands. This left her bottom up and over the Headmistress' right thigh. Mitten felt her place the small paddle in the center of her back and then the softness of the woman's right hand resting across the crack of her cheeks.

"We advise girls to not clinch or resist the spanking. Don't try to endure it; receive it."

"Yes, Headmistress."

Almost instantly after she said it, Mrs. Cashmere raised her hand and swatted her left cheek smartly but not terribly hard. In quick succession she repeated the stokes on the opposite cheek. She did this continually and repeatedly. It didn't hurt Mitten but it was making her squirm anyway.

"This is a warm up to make the spanking with the paddle more intense," Mrs. Cashmere said over the swats of her hand smacking loudly on bare skin. "Do you understand?"

"Yes....uh...Headmistress."

As quickly as she started, the Headmistress paused. Mitten was panting uncomfortably. She felt the woman's hands run over the cheeks that she was just swatting, measuring the intensity of what she had done to her.

"A little warmer, I think." She smacked Mitten's butt even harder with her bare hand four times on each of the softening cheeks. Mitten gritted her teeth as if that would prevent her from whimpering.

As quickly as she started, Mrs. Cashmere stopped and Mitten felt the softness of her hand running over her exposure. Her hands were gentle and pleasant. She did this silently without bidding any response from the prospective student. But Mitten had remembered the little paddle that she produced before she laid over the Headmistress' lap.

"You're doing very well, Miss Wordsmith," she said as she soothed Mitten's bottom.

"Thank you, Headmistress."

Then the hand stopped touching her and she felt the paddle lifted off her back.

"Try to stay still now." The Headmistress got a much stronger grip with her free hand pulling the girl's body closer to her torso.

"Yes, Headmist...AAAAAHHHH!"

The stroke came down with such sudden ferocity that she couldn't control her voice. This time she paused between each stroke.

Smack! The second stroke came down over the opposite cheek.

"OOOOOWWWWW!!"

Smack! This stroke was harder.

"AAAIIEE!!!...PLEASE...."

"Hush," Mitten could barely hear the Headmistress say. Smack!

"OWWWIEE!"

It seemed interminable. Over and over at a steady rhythm with each stroke stronger than the previous until the Headmistress had administered 20 increasing strokes on each buttock. As soon as Mrs. Cashmere had clearly completed with the discipline, Mitten burst into tears and began to sob in a seemingly uncontrollable manner. Then she felt the softness of Mrs. Cashmere's hand soothing the tormented and welting flesh.

As quickly as she burst into tears she began to calm. Innately, Mitten sensed that the procedure of petting her bottom after the discipline was a way for the Headmistress to express that there was nothing personal about the pain that she made her experience. After a few minutes of stroking and sniffles, Mrs. Cashmere bade for Mitten rise and get dressed.

It was an awkward few minutes for Mitten. She unsteadily dressed as the Headmistress calmly watched from her seat without speaking. She could feel the scrutiny of the authoritarian woman even without watching. She imagined the woman observing, while Mitten's back was turned; assessing and watching her reddened bare bottom as she as she gratefully pulled her slip over her head. It took several minutes to finally to get to a state of dress where she felt comfortable. She didn't bother with her shoes and socks since her feet weren't visible under her full-sized skirts.

When she was finally presentable again, she turned and stood before the Headmistress once again, who sighed with a practiced weariness.

"Well, Miss Wordsmith, I would characterize that discipline as a rather moderate version of what you will experience at Petworthy. If you come to our institution, this is how we maintain our culture and condition our girls. If you are the best, most well-behaved student, you can expect at least one of these every week. Is that something that you can accept as part of the greater vision of making you a woman of substance?"

Mitten was looking down trying to not have an impertinent expression. She really didn't know how she felt. All she knew is that this was what Daddy wanted for her. She drew a deep breath of resolve.

"Yes Headmistress."

"I don't want a girl who is resigned to enduring this form of life. You are going to have to embrace this as the road to where you and your father want you go."

There was in Mrs. Cashmere's expression an almost hopeful expression that seemed to say that what she was asking for was even more transcendent than what Mitten imagined. She didn't understand completely. Yet despite the fact that the woman had just cruelly caused her pain, she trusted her.

"I understand, Headmistress." The tiniest curling of her mouth that alluded to the potential of a smile emerged before she rose to her feet.

"Very well, Miss Wordsmith. You and your father will be receiving our decision within the month by mail."

She extended her hand and Mitten shook it delicately, as was want for a lady. Then Mrs. Cashmere disappeared from Mitten almost as quietly as an apparition, leaving her to a maelstrom of emotions.

That was nearly three months before. She vividly remembered when they received the letter of acceptance, instructions for tuition, and how to reach the school. Daddy was exuberant and Mitten did her best to share in his joy, though she was deeply sad inside that she would be apart from him. Now she was riding the train to Albany, New York where she would be picked up with a group of other new students.

All Mitten ever wanted to do was be a good girl and make her parents proud. Those were the things she wanted for herself. Petworthy would challenge what she wanted to be....as a woman.

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