A historical series with lesbian and kink themes. Delphine – a young French aristocrat attends an English boarding school run by her malicious headmistress Miss Ranson. My co-writer is EveRay – Read her previous chapter (17) here or start at episode 1 and use the category Delphine to follow our series so far:
Delphine De Lotbinier scowled at her reflection in the mirror which hung at the end of Barrington dormitory. What a ridiculous dress, it’s full skirt was made of panels of red, white and blue with an unflatteringly cut bodice of scratchy material. Knowing Miss Ranson’s intention was to humiliate and belittle her made Delphine determined to turn this charade to her advantage, but she’d been left little time to plan how.
Still, her devoted friends Nettie and Arianrod had rallied round to help with her plans to show defiance to that dried up old spinster. A de Lotbiniere might curtsey to a queen, but would never submit to someone of such insignificance as Miss Ranson or that putain Catherine Spencer-Harrington.
Belinda had silently avoided making eye-contact since they had left the headmistress’ study last night. It was just as well, Delphine was furious with her for crumbling under interrogation and making her take the blame for their escape from school.
Taking a calming breath, Delphine pouted her lips to apply matte red lipstick to her full lips. With a broad brush she dabbed rose coloured powder against the middle of her cheeks, intending to give herself the make-up look favoured by Marie Antoinette. It was fortunate that Arianrod was trusted with the key to the drama suite where costumes and wigs were kept.
On this day in England they were celebrating the crowning of a young queen, but Delphine planned to remind them how her native France had dealt with its royal court.
Deciding she was ready, she pulled her house cloak around the dress and fastened it. She pulled up the hood to hide her hair and was glad for the way it hid her face in shadow, in the unlikely chance she might be seen by someone.
The rest of the pupils were currently in the assembly hall which was set out like a lecture theatre. St Faith’s had hired a black and white television especially for the purpose of watching Queen Elizabeth’s coronation. The whole school had gathered around the television box with it’s fourteen inch black and white screen. The older pupils and prefects in the front rows and the youngest seated at the back, trying to see as best they could.
A buffet of buns, sausage rolls, cakes and sandwiches had been prepared by the kitchen staff and was set out in the dining hall. Girls would help themselves to tea or squash on arrival, then take a plate of party food and mingle. It had originally been planned as a garden party, but the British weather was dependable in its unreliability so, although it was June, it was chilly with rain.
Miss Ranson sat proudly in the front row. To mark her status Trudi had carried one of the padded chairs from her study and placed it in the hall, so it seemed as if the headmistress was seated on her own throne. Some of the teachers gave the new maid sidelong glances, but allowing for the ‘old battle horse’ standard of most of the female staff, her slightly rugged look was not being questioned so far. St Faith’s was the kind of educational establishment where staff came to round off their teaching career. There were plenty of pupils whose mothers had been taught by the same old retainers as their daughters.
The stacking chairs were unforgiving when used for long periods of time, and many girls began fidgeting with their tight collars and the itchy wool of their Sunday skirts by the time Queen Elizabeth II made her vows and held the sceptre and the orb in her hands. Her Majesty retraced her steps slowly down the red carpet of Westminster Abbey and was met by cheering crowds as she stepped onto the street and into her carriage. The girls of St Faith’s became vocal about the excitement of the event, and knowing that they could soon get up and help themselves to food.
Miss Ranson fired a stern look around the hall, and the hubbub died down. Once their Queen was in her fairytale carriage, surrounded by horsemen, then she would give the signal for the girls to leave the hall. When she deemed it was time, she nodded at the head girl, who stood and turned to face the student body.
“God Save our Gracious Queen!” the head girl pronounced, in her plummy accent.
“Hip Hip …”
“Hooray” the girls replied.
This was repeated until they’d given the traditional three cheers allowing the teaching staff to file out, heading for the dining hall. When the head girl called out class names, year by year, in descending order, the pupils were gradually released to move towards the refreshments too.
Arianrod, being in the sixth form and a prefect, was in prime position to exit and get to the buffet ahead of everyone else, but instead she skirted a longer way round to avoid being seen by anyone. She dashed up the spiral staircase to the gallery above the dining hall, where a frustrated Delphine was lurking.
“Are you alright Bin?” she asked her friend.
“Yes. Feels like I’ve been waiting ages,” Delphine grumbled.
“Do you have the dummy’s head?”
“Here.” Delphine held up an ugly puppet head, to which they’d glued a fancy styled white wig, like the one she was wearing.
“And the ink?”
“Here.” Delphine produced a jar of blue ink.
She would have preferred to use red paint, but she liked the inference that aristocrats and royalty have blue blood. She flung back the cowl hood of her cloak to reveal her carefully made up face and raised her chin with grim determination. Below them, they listened as the hubbub in the dining hall gradually escalated from quiet murmurs and plates clinking to the volume of a marketplace, as more and more pupils filed in to enjoy their coronation tea.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Arianrod, who knelt on the floor, was keeping her voice low. Neither of them wanted their prank to be discovered before they could pull it off.
“Bien sur,” Delphine was at her most defiant. “And you? You could be expelled.”
“I doubt it,” Arianrod shrugged. “My little sister is only in lower fifth, Ranson wouldn’t risk the loss of school fees. If they expelled me, my father would surely send Judy to another school.”
From below them came the imperious ring of a little bell which Miss Ranson kept beside her when she ate at high table. It was the signal for silence.
“Young ladies, you have today witnessed the importance of good breeding, grace and high moral values. A young woman has been made ruler, not only of the British Isles, but of the British Empire.” She looked round the room at her captive audience. “With our Queen leading us, I believe that educated women, those of good standing in society, will be given greater opportunities.”
Delphine moved quietly to the front of the gallery, a mezzanine floor edged with iron railings, which jutted above the high-ceilinged dining hall. It was sometimes used by the choir to sing grace before meals, but more usually the teachers sat there to dine, away from the clamour of the rest of the school. Miss Ranson was droning on in her reedy voice but Bin sensed her introduction was imminent.
“Being French, she is not accustomed to the great history and traditions of our nation. However Delphine should feel the honour of celebrating with you all. Welcome our queen for the day, Mademoiselle de Lotbiniere.”
Miss Ranson raised her eyes to the gallery, as did the rest of the school, all clapping politely. The headmistress nearly missed a beat when, as well as the red white and blue dress she had prescribed for Delphine to wear, she saw her ornate wig and the way she’d had made herself up. Her smile became more of a grimace.
“On this most auspicious day,” Delphine announced carefully, because the word was unfamiliar to her, “I too think it is most important to remember history.”
She felt Arianrod kneeling by her feet, hidden by the fullness of the skirt of her costume. This, even while her legs were trembling, gave her the strength to continue.
“In my country, France…” she paused for emphasis, surveying the upturned faces of her classmates and the younger girls she did not know, then directed a cold stare at Belinda, the girl she no longer wanted to know.
“We beheaded our Royal Family with La Guillotine!”
Having made this shocking pronouncement, Delphine whirled around and, with her back to the audience she kelt and bowed her head. Ariadne made a loud bang on the floor to represent the fall of the deadly blade, then tossed the puppet’s head, the neck of which she had made wet with ink, over the railing. It fell amongst the gathered schoolgirls having tea.
Amid the shrieks and screams which ensued, because people weren’t sure what had happened, Arianrod quickly used an inky paintbrush to draw a line around Delphine’s throat, where the guillotine would have severed her head. Streaks of blue ran down her neck and over her decolletage.
“Delphine De Lotbiniere, come down here this instant.” Miss Ranson raged, sending Trudi to dash up the stairs and enforce her command.
Delphine did not obey, instead she stood up with magnificent hauteur and, bending at the waist, threw her full skirt up and over her back, to reveal a voluminous pair of dark gym knickers, “baggies” as they were fondly known by the girls. Onto these Nettie had sown rows and rows of red, then white and blue ribbons, so that they appeared to have frills in the colour of the French flag.
“Vive la France,” Delphine announced, with her bottom in the air, to the cheers and clapping from many of the girls below.
Arianrod had managed to hide herself away before Trudi burst onto the gallery and pulled Delphine and her blatant display of disrespect out of sight. Trudi dragged the young heiress to Miss Ranson’s study to await her fate, which she knew would be worse than emptying the kitchen bins, but it had been worth it.
The adrenaline racing round her body not only made the Delphine’s legs tremble, but she felt a rush of excited warmth in her pussy and her nipples formed hard pinpoints as she prepared to go toe to toe with her arch nemesis.
This story is submitted for #WickedWednesday & #EroticFictionDeluxe
Cups image is from Pixabay – Jill Wellington, the lips are from Unsplash