[[ Hi all -- my first lesbian story follows. It's meant to be fun, not taken too seriously.
I'll flag the content after this line, it will count as mild spoilers, so if you're feeling adventurous -- jump right in!
The story concerns hazing of a new girl at a girl's school -- there's mild coercion, mild bondage, mild trickery, and since one girl is the main character's cousin ... mild incest? There's also wetting/squirting, and girl-on-girl masturbating.
It's a self-contained story, but I might write more in the same setting if people like it.
Enjoy! ]]
++ First term at St Penelope's -- First Day. ++
Beth wasn't sure what she'd expected of her first day in an English girls' school. Her stepmother had told her that the rich and famous sent their daughters to this particular boarding school. Beth had imagined many different beginnings to her first night, but in none of them had she been left sitting in the dark, tightly bound to a chair, and positioned at the middle of the stage in the school assembly hall.
Beth hadn't wanted to move to London, or the UK come to that. Her father's new wife, a woman half his age and fewer than ten years older than Beth herself, had insisted on it. Beth hadn't wanted a twenty-five-year-old British stepmother but apparently Lisa's narrow waist, bombshell boobs and wine-dark hair had overwhelmed her father's sense of dignity. Beth felt that trophy wives should be mounted on the wall above the hearth, but this one got to boss her father about as long as she kept letting him mount her in the bedroom. Or at least that's what Beth's real mom told her.
"He took one look at that tight little heinie and lost his mind," her mom had said during a tearful goodbye at Dulles Airport.
Beth had left her mom beneath the low concrete scroll of the Dulles roof and disembarked jetlagged into the too-bright corridors of Terminal 3 at Heathrow. Her father and Lisa were waiting for her in the arrivals hall, Lisa with an overlarge stuffed panda like Beth was five rather than two days past her eighteenth birthday.
They'd driven her to their love nest. Lisa assured her that for London the detached house was both large and luxurious. Compared to the house they'd had in the Washington DC suburbs though it looked positively pokey, albeit of sturdier construction.
Beth had retreated to her rather small bedroom -- again, Lisa described it as spacious for inner London -- as soon as humanly possible.
"This is your house, darling," Lisa smiled encouragingly having followed her to her room. "You can go anywhere except my workshop in the basement. I've got my art glass and kiln down there, so it's dangerous and delicate at the same time."
Beth allowed the woman to kiss her on the cheek then closed the door on her. Beth's mom said that Lisa was as much an artist as she was a brain surgeon, and Beth didn't want to think about what might go in that basement. Whatever was getting blown down there she doubted it was glass. She wiped at her cheek where the mirror showed Lisa had left a crimson kiss mark. The woman was unreasonably beautiful with long, straight, black hair, high cheekbones, and almond eyes of an unnatural green. Her kisses and embraces always left Beth unsettled, a mix of anger at the woman taking her mom's place, and an uncomfortable physical awareness of the tight length of Lisa's body that had, in her mom's words, made a fool of her father.
"Is anyone there?" Beth had called out several times already. It felt like she'd been tied to the chair for an hour. "Hello?" She'd been fairly quiet at first, too embarrassed to disturb any teachers or caretakers, but now she felt this was getting silly, and she was getting steadily more angry about the whole thing. "HELLO!"
Her voice echoed in the rafters of the large assembly hall. Nothing but starlight lit the space before her, filtering in through high windows and revealing almost nothing. "Hello?" she shouted. "I'm serious! I need to pee!"
The girls had tied her to the chair in the dormitory and carried her to the hall, whispering and giggling. Her cousin had told her not to make a fuss -- it was all part of the traditional hazing every new girl got. But this was too much. She was tired, the ropes were starting to hurt, and she really did need the bathroom.
"HELLO! LET ME--" Without warning someone reached over her head and a rubber ball filled her open mouth. "Mmmggh!"
"You were told to keep quiet," said the girl behind her, fiddling with something at the back of her neck.
"Mmno!" Beth tried to spit the ball out, but the girl seemed to have strapped it to her head. "Mggh!"
The girl stroked Beth's hair. "There you go, sweetheart." She kissed the top of Beth's head. "That's much better."
The sound of her footsteps dwindled into the distance as Beth craned her neck, trying to see. Nothing. She was alone again. The mumbles that escaped her gag had no hope of summoning help.
Frustrated Beth struggled against her bonds, then subsided into a breathless sulk. They'd let her go soon. They had to!
Beth's father had, at his new wife's urging, arranged for Beth to come to St Penelope's. It was private boarding school out in the wilds of Sussex and he'd arranged transport for Monday morning, meaning that Beth had only had to suffer beneath the same roof as her stepmother for the weekend.
On her first night, tired but too jetlagged to sleep, Beth had spent a long time investigating her new school's website and googling various of the students mentioned in its newsletters. St Penelope's was a well-known girls' school, established in the 1900s. It had been turning out fine young ladies for generations. Her stepmother had declared herself an 'old girl' and had spoken of the school in rapturous terms, promising that Beth would have a marvellous time there.
Beth didn't know a single girl at the school except for her British cousin, Caroline, who she hadn't seen since her aunt brought her to America back when they were both thirteen. They'd got on well -- more than well -- but that was five years ago, and apart from an occasional message on Facebook they'd had little to say to each other since.
On the Saturday Lisa had taken Beth shopping for school uniform. The school's nominated tailor was a small shop in central London, tucked away in a Knightsbridge side street. The assistants, two elderly ladies who looked like twins and had very bony fingers, had taken a great number of measurements, seeming to leave no part of Beth unpoked, including a number of private parts that seemed irrelevant to fitting clothes.
Beth had emerged from the changing room wearing what she considered an extremely ugly knee-length skirt in brown with an orange hem, a white blouse, brown blazer with orange trim, brown tie, ankle socks, sensible leather shoes, all topped off by a ridiculous straw boater with an orange hatband. Lisa had insisted on the hat. "You're so pale darling. You'll burn up if the sun so much as looks at you."
Beth hadn't bothered to point out that the Virginian sun was ten times as fierce as London's. But she did have very pale skin, she had to admit. Along with her very black hair it had got her teased for being a Goth more than once.
