Portia Princeton-Smith aka Smiff

Class 5

Red Badge (fuck me; she swears like a trooper when she gets caned)

The daughter of a Tory MP. Portia was destined to be a lady of leisure and marry someone just like Daddy when she grew up. With promises of a car, a nose job and a Chelsea flat of her own, she was packed off to a Swiss Finishing School in the Alps to mould her into a marketable commodity.

Here amongst the hilltops and cuckoo clocks, she underwent training in deportment, elecution, yodelling, cheesemaking, dancing, mountain climbing and Edelweiss pressing.

Excelling at all her given subjects, Portia was reported to have had a vivid imagination and was often found improvising with the given equipment. One such case was roping up her Mountain climbing instructor and pinning them to the rock face with crampons, leaving them struggling till she deemed it time enough to call Mountain Rescue. She claimed she was only practicing her macramé skills.

Her innocence untainted by accusations of sadism and giggling, she continued on her path towards her prospective husband, with only the most ridiculous and unproveable of claims marring her otherwise impeccable record, until the night of the Debutante Ball.

There are no written records of why she left the Schnitzel Institute for Posh Totty in such haste or secrecy, but the rumours garnered from the townsfolk and various illustrious personages have pieced together that fateful night thusly –

Like Cinderella, she appeared on the dancefloor and headed straight for the son of the British Ambassador, delicately waving away the offer of foil wrapped chocolates and proceeded to charm him in such a ladylike manner, that the poor boy was left entranced, having eyes only for her. The two waltzed across the floor, Portia smiling broadly and Triffan talking loudly. Over the shoulder of the dancing, talking, Triffan - Portia was seen to be rolling her eyes and yawning. Excusing herself, she left the room and was never to be seen by the attendees at the ball again.

However, we have since found out this is not the case. Poor Triffan, still talking, took up the search for Portia with some of the most eligible bachelors attending the Ball, all trying to prove their equal senses of manly concern and competitiveness. Bursting into the school's goat shed, the sons of ambassadors found Portia milking Peter the Goatherd, a simpleton from the village with a bell around his neck, so the goats would recognise him as one of their own. Claiming complete innocence, Portia explained that she felt the need to make some cheese as she felt the natural process a calming one after all the excitement of the Ball. Her charm and persuasiveness may have been successful, until Triffan recalled the excellent and very popular goats cheese crostini served at the Ball earlier…

Within the hour, Portia was packed into a black limosine and flown out of Switzerland on Daddy's private jet to London. Portia pleaded with her father to let her join her penpal Rosalee Reade at the LCPS, saying that time amongst the common people was important for a potential politician's wife.

ALL LCPS STUDENTS ARE OVER 18 YEARS OF AGE