Miss Bridget's Girls

by Robin Bond

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Miss Bridget’s Girls

  by

  Robin Bond

  ISBN: 978-1-954079-22-9

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2021, All rights reserved

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Media

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

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  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

  Chapter One

  “What are you, Tulip?” Miss Bridget demanded from behind her desk.

  “I am a cunt, Miss Bridget,” Tulip said nervously.

  “And what is your function?”

  “My function is to provide pleasure for puissant pussies,” Tulip said.

  “My!” said Miss Bridget. “That’s a fancy word. Still, we are in a seat of learning, I suppose.”

  “Yes, Miss Bridget,” said Tulip, looking down at the ground. She hoped she hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Take your clothes off,” Miss Bridget said.

  “All of them, Miss Bridget?”

  “Of course all of them,” Miss Bridget snapped.

  Tulip unbuttoned her crisp white blouse and took it off, then unfastened her grey pleated skirt and took that off too. Underneath she wore a white cotton bra and matching knickers. She peeled them off. It was a warm day and she was wearing sandals. She kicked them off too.

  “I don’t care for sandals,” said Miss Bridget. “We’re not at the beach now. Next time wear proper shoes.”

  “Yes, Miss Bridget,” Tulip said.

  “Now,” said Miss Bridget in her business-like fashion, “I am going to show you one of the ways in which a little cunt like you may give pleasure to a powerful pussy. Bend over my desk.”

  Tulip shuffled forward and, moving some papers out of the way, bent down over the wooden desk, feeling the edges dig into her hips. “Have I done something wrong, Miss Bridget?” she ventured. It wouldn’t be fair if she were beaten for nothing.

  “No,” snapped Miss Bridget. “I’m going to cane you because I feel like it. That’s what a potent pussy like me does. You need to understand that. And you obey, do you not?”

  “Yes, Miss Bridget,” Tulip said with alacrity. She didn’t want to annoy Miss Bridget. Her best friend Celia had told her that Miss Bridget’s canings could be vicious if she was provoked.

  Miss Bridget got up and crossed to the mantelpiece, where she kept her cane. She came back, swishing it from side to side. Tulip’s knees felt weak. Miss Bridget studied Tulip’s bottom. It was a pretty one, there was no denying it; sleek, unblemished, smooth and round. Ladies of standing in the locality were known to pay well for having such a bottom at their mercy. Some of them could be very severe. Miss Bridget made sure her girls were properly trained before they encountered such clients.

  Miss Bridget swung the cane and landed it across the centre of Tulip’s bottom with a loud crack.

  “Ow,” cried Tulip, hopping from one foot to the other.

  “Don’t make such a fuss,” Miss Bridget said. “Our clients like our girls to be brave.”

  She lifted the cane again and brought it unerringly down on top of the first stroke. Tulip only half suppressed a squeal of pain.

  “I will let you into the secret of a successful encounter with a client,” said Miss Bridget. “Suffer in silence, for as long as you can. And keep still. The client likes to see the girl show fortitude, and know that she will only be broken by a determined and vigorous assault. The longer you can prolong it before begging for mercy, the greater the satisfaction for the client. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Miss Bridget,” Tulip said through gritted teeth. The third stroke hurt more, perhaps because it landed on top of the other two. Tulip could not help a slight whimper. Her knees felt like jelly; she was thankful at least for the support of the desk. The caning went on and on; Tulip began to weep silent tears. Miss Bridget paused for a moment and ran the tip of her finger along the welts which crossed the cheeks of the tender white bottom, uttering a grunt of satisfaction.

  The caning resumed. Tulip knew she could not take much more. Her bottom was on fire. Her knees were shaking. She wanted to be brave, she wanted to resist breaking down, she wanted Miss Bridget to be proud of her. But she could not take much more.

  “Three more hard ones,” Miss Bridget said, “and then we’re finished.”

  Three more hard ones? As if they were not all hard, brutal in fact. Tulip was sure that there must be trickles of blood running down, so cruelly did the cane cut into her bottom. At the first of the hard strokes, she cried out. She very nearly put her hands behind to soothe her poor tortured bottom. Somehow she managed to resist. The final two strokes followed quickly. Tulip fell to her knees, clutching her bottom, trying to soothe the agony. The tears fell freely now.

  “Good girl,” said Miss Bridget. She wiped the cane (perhaps there was just a fleck of blood upon it) and returned it to its place above the mantelpiece.

  “Stand up straight, Tulip,” she said, not unkindly.

  Tulip got unsteadily to her feet. She wiped some tears away.

  “You did well,” Miss Bridget said. “After a little more training you will be a most welcome newcomer to our little group.”

  “I hope so, Miss Bridget,” Tulip said. She did so want to belong. And she was already a little bit in love with Miss Bridget. “But will the extra training involve the cane?” she added nervously.

  “I’m afraid it will,” said Miss Bridget. “A high proportion of our clients enjoy administering corporal punishment and impact play. But with experience you will adapt. Many of our girls discover that they are able to slip into subspace when they are beaten.”

  “What is subspace, Miss Tulip?” Tulip asked.

  “I hope in due course you will find out,” said Miss Bridget. “Now come to see me again at the same time tomorrow.”

  Tulip turned away to pick up her clothes. As she bent over Miss Bridget regarded Tulip’s pretty little bottom, now criss-crossed with vivid red lines; truly an enticing sight, she thought. There would be more lines on it before long. Miss Bridget’s training was arduous, but it was necessary if her girls were to hold their own in a competitive environment.

  Chapter Two

  Mrs Davidson opened the door and looked Taylor up and down. “Pretty,” she said, with a smile. “Do come in. I’m just in the mood.”

  She didn’t say in the mood for what exactly, but Taylor was sure she would find out soon enough. Miss Bridget had been a bit vague. “It�
��s her first time as a client,” she said. “All she specified was that she wanted a pretty girl to have sex with. It seems her husband is away on business a lot and she’s lonely and horny.”

  “And likes girls,’ Taylor added.

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Miss Bridget added with a grin.

  Mrs Davidson took Taylor into her sitting room. She was wearing a smart silk dress which suited her shapely body. Taylor thought perhaps the skirt was just a shade too short for someone of Mrs Davidson’s age, but she was in her own home and could doubtless wear what she liked. She sat down and beckoned Taylor towards her. Taylor had dressed up, in a tight sweater (she’d been told her breasts were among her best features) and a short, tight skirt, with some brief but pretty pink underwear. Taylor walked towards Mrs Davidson and stood a couple of feet away, waiting.

  “Let’s get to it,” Mrs Davidson said. “Pull your skirt up and take your knickers down as far as your knees.”

  Taylor followed her instructions. It was only a couple of weeks ago that Miss Flora had shaved her cunt (which at that time she still called her pussy). Taylor had been brought up in a household where sex was never discussed and her experience of what girls did with each other was limited. So she was still a little shy about people seeing her cunt completely bare. She hadn’t quite settled in her mind whether it looked good now that her thick black bush had been removed. Though Alberta, a girl who had introduced her to some of the things that girls did, had told her it was lovely, and proceeded to demonstrate her approval by spending part of an afternoon kissing and fondling her there, making her come several times.

  “Open your legs as far as you can and push your pelvis forward so I can get a good look at your cunt,” Mrs Davidson said. Taylor thrust forward. The pink lips of her cunt parted slightly. Taylor blushed prettily as Mrs Davidson stared between her legs. “Come closer,” she said. Taylor advanced to within touching distance. Mrs Davidson reached out and began to finger Taylor between her legs. Taylor made some noises as Mrs Davidson’s fingers prodded and probed, pulled and twisted, and then penetrated, two fingers going right up inside her cunt. Taylor groaned.

  Mrs Davidson took her fingers away, somewhat to Taylor’s disappointment, and because they were wet she wiped them on Taylor’s bare thigh, a rather arrogant gesture, Taylor thought. But then, she told herself, she’s paid to use me. She’s going to do exactly what she likes.

  “Turn around,” Mrs Davidson said.

  For a few moments she was silent, doubtless contemplating Taylor’s ass. She reached out and stroked it, then squeezed one cheek.

  “Young girls have such delicious asses,” she said. Perhaps Mrs Davidson, whom Taylor judged to be about forty, felt that her own ass was past its best, although as Taylor was soon to discover she had taken good care of her body.

  Mrs Davidson stuck her finger in her mouth, pulled one of the cheeks of Taylor’s ass to one side and pushed the finger right in. Taylor gasped. Anal things were still new to her. True she had had an afternoon’s instruction from Miss Bridget, which had progressed from being obliged to lick Miss Bridget’s ass to having her own similarly treated by Miss Flora, and then buggered by Miss Flora with her strap-on. But Taylor’s ass was still tight, very tight, and the experience had been both revelatory and just a little painful. “A little pain is a good thing for you cunts,” Miss Bridget had said. “In fact you’ll get a lot of it sooner or later, so you may as well learn to like it.”

  Mrs Davidson moved her finger around in Taylor’s ass for a while before removing it. “Are you an anal virgin?” she asked.

  “No, Mrs Davidson. But I’ve only been fucked there once.”

  “Time to improve on that, I think,” said Mrs Davidson. She told Taylor to turn around again and show her tits. Taylor peeled off her sweater and unhooked her bra and stood with breasts bared while Mrs Davidson looked at them.

  “Closer,” she said. She stood up and took hold of Taylor’s nipples, which were large and brown, and twisted them. Taylor gasped. Her nipples instantly sprang up erect. Mrs Davidson slapped Taylor’s tits several times. It hurt just a little, but it was exciting and Taylor began to feel a tingle in her cunt.

  “I think,” said Mrs Davidson, “that my aim this afternoon will be to ruin your cute little ass. But first I’ll have some fun with your tits. Of course it might not be fun for you, but that’s why I’m paying, isn’t it?”

  Mrs Davidson took hold of one of Taylor’s nipples again and led her out to the kitchen. She made her stand up against the sink while she looked in one of the drawers, then pulled out a wooden spoon. She began to smack Taylor’s nipples with the back of the spoon, left, right, left, right. It hurt and Taylor gave a little squeal each time. Mrs Davidson was smiling. She reached in the drawer again and found a wooden spatula. She used this to smack Taylor’s nipples some more. This went on for quite a while, until Taylor’s nipples were sore. When she looked down she saw her tits were red.

  Mrs Davidson opened another drawer, which contained cutlery. She took out a fork and held it up to Taylor’s left nipple. She poked at the nipple, gently at first, then harder.

  “Hmm” she said. “Maybe two.”

  She took another fork from the drawer. Holding one in each hand, she pressed them into Taylor’s nipple, from both sides. This was getting really uncomfortable. Taylor caught her breath. Mrs Davidson pressed the forks against Taylor’s right nipple instead. Taylor grunted. Mrs Davidson pressed them harder. Taylor gasped. Mrs Davidson pushed the forks viciously into Taylor’s nipple. She squealed and backed away.

  Mrs Davidson went to the freezer and took out the ice tray. She shook a couple of ice-cubes out and put them to Taylor’s nipples. It was good to feel the cold ice against the sore nipples. Melted water dripped onto the floor. Mrs Davidson put one of the ice cubes between Taylor’s legs, and pressed it right up against her clit. Taylor gasped.

  In one kitchen drawer there were some brightly coloured plastic clothes pegs. Mrs Davidson took two of them and showed them to Taylor. “These have rather a fierce grip,” she said. “I tried them on myself once. But not for long.”

  She put them carefully on Taylor’s nipples, one by one. Taylor cried out. The pegs were vicious. Mrs Davidson smiled to see Taylor’s reaction. She took hold of the pegs and twisted them, violently. Taylor squealed and moved away.

  “I fear we shall have to tie you up when things get really bad,” Mrs Davidson said. “As they will.” Taylor thought they were getting really bad already; she was beginning to dread what might come next. She wanted desperately to please Miss Bridget by her behaviour, but her experience of pain was limited. If Mrs Davidson was intent on hurting her badly, she didn’t know how well she would be able to endure it.

  Mrs Davidson put her hands up to the pegs again. Taylor flinched. “Keep still,” said Mrs Davidson sharply. “I’m paying for this, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, Mrs Davidson,” Taylor said meekly. It was true. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying it. It was a service she provided, for the prestige and honour of the Circle, but more especially because Miss Bridget demanded it of her. Had she not been trained to serve? Did she not want to serve Miss Bridget with all her heart? She gritted her teeth.

  This time Mrs Davidson twisted the pegs slowly. The pain grew till it filled Taylor’s head; she could think of nothing else. She looked down at Mrs Davidson’s fingers twisting the pegs inexorably. Mrs Davidson looked at her and smiled. “Good girl,” she said, and let the pegs go. But they were still gripping Taylor’s nipples, a sharp, stabbing sensation. Taylor could not prevent a whimper emerging from her lips.

  Mrs Davidson took the pegs away, which gave Taylor a short, sharp stab of excruciating pain before it was replaced with an ache. “Poor girl,” Mrs Davidson said. “However, when I move to your ass it will be a different kind of pain, perhaps more to your liking, a percussive pain as I strike those cute little buttocks of yours. We’ll see if we can’t give you some pretty bruises. Now get the rest of
your clothes off and let’s go upstairs.”

  Taylor, naked now, preceded Mrs Davidson up the stairs. She could feel Mrs Davidson’s eyes feasting on her bottom as it swayed gracefully from side to side. They went into a small room at the end of the passage. It was sparsely furnished, with a small wooden table, a wooden chair and at one side a chest of drawers. There was no window. Mrs Davidson positioned the table in the middle of the room. She laid Taylor down over it, on her back, then fetched several pieces of rope from a drawer and deftly began to tie Taylor down. First, her hands were pulled down by her sides and roped to the legs at one end of the table, then Taylor’s legs were pulled right back over her head and her ankles bound to the tops of the other two table legs. Taylor had heard this referred to as the diaper position. It was evident from the efficiency of this that Mrs Davidson had done it before. Taylor’s bottom was lifted up, presented, as it were, and made the focus of attention, while her anus and her cunt were made available for any intrusive touching or manipulating. Her knees were pressing down onto her face, so that she could see very little. Altogether it was very undignified.

  From another drawer Mrs Davidson fetched a heavy leather strap. “I always find this a good starting point for an ass-beating,” she said. “It gets the bottom nicely warmed up and gives it a bit of colour. Plus it does rather sting a lot.”

  Taylor had never felt more defenceless. She couldn’t move an inch in any direction, only lie and wait for what was to come. Mrs Davidson swished the strap a few times, then raised her arm and brought it down swiftly, the strap landing on Taylor’s bottom with a loud crack.

  “Such a satisfying sound, don’t you think?’ Mrs Davidson said cheerfully.

  She swung the strap again, then again. Taylor squealed each time. It wasn’t very dignified, but she was past caring about that. The belt stung like crazy. Taylor desperately wanted to rub her bottom, anything to ease the pain, but she was trapped, having no choice but to submit. The pain was cumulative, her bottom smarting badly now. Taylor wondered how long this would go on. She wanted to be a good girl for Miss Bridget, but there were limits, surely.