Miss Bridget's Girls

by Robin Bond

  “That would be a shame,” Flora said. “It’s such a nice one.”

  “The marks are still there,” Verity said. “Would you like to see them?”

  Flora had seen Verity’s bottom before; it was, she remembered, a very nice one indeed, what one might call a peach, round and shapely and sleek, with just the faintest down upon it, just like a ripe peach. Flora had no objection to seeing it again.

  “Show me,” she said.

  Verity lifted her skirt and pulled down her knickers. Across the centre of her bottom were a series of red lines, the edges of them verging into purple. The bruising was extensive.

  “That’s impressive,” Flora said. “When were these made?”

  “A week ago, Miss Flora,” Verity said.

  “You were a good girl to endure so much,” Flora said. Verity beamed. “Now, I have a task for you that will not involve you in such an ordeal.”

  Flora made a gesture to Verity to pull up her knickers. In truth, Flora would have loved to look for longer, and even caress the bottom under the guise of examining it more closely. But she knew that they must get on. She explained to Verity what was needed. “Find out if she has any response to pain,” Flora said, having described Clara and the state of her sexual development. “Start with a little over the knee spanking, perhaps, and go on from there.”

  “Yes, Miss Flora,” said Verity brightly. Though she didn’t advertise it, she was a bit of a switch; though more inclined to submission, to taking a beating, she had on occasion handed one out to one of the other girls in the Circle, just for fun, and rather enjoyed it.

  Verity went off the find Clara; no time like the present, she thought. She found her in the library. She got a book off the shelf and sat next to her, pretending to read. After ten minutes, she stretched noisily, attracting Clara’s attention.

  “It’s hard work studying,” she said. “Fancy a cup of coffee?”

  Clara looked at her watch. She ought to study for longer. On the other hand, Miss Bridget had told her to make friends, and Verity looked like a nice girl. She had long dark hair and a face that was perhaps not beautiful but made you look at it. And looking at it, Clara found herself developing those feelings of which she had been unaware just a short time ago and which now came into her mind more and more often.

  “Very well,” Clara said.

  They found a quiet corner of the college cafeteria. Verity introduced herself. Clara offered her name in exchange.

  “I know who you are,” Verity said. “I’ve seen you around. And you’re so pretty.”

  Clara blushed at the unexpected compliment. Verity shifted in her seat. “Sorry,” she said. “Only, my bottom is a little sore.”

  This seemed an odd thing to say, Clara thought. “Oh, why?” she replied.

  “I ought not to say, really.” Verity made a face.

  “No, go on,” Clara said. It seemed such an unusual piece of information to give out. She was curious.

  “Well,” said Verity confidentially, “I saw a woman last week. She was a bit rough with me.”

  “You mean she was rough on your bottom?” Clara asked, now hooked.

  “Yes,” said Verity.

  There was silence for a moment. “How rough?’ Clara asked.

  “Very rough indeed. There are still marks.”

  Clara thought about this, about the marks and about Verity’s bottom. She wondered if it was a nice one.

  “Do you want to see?” Verity said.

  Clara didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I do,” she said.

  “Well not here, obviously,” Verity said. She drank a little coffee. “But you could come back to my room if you like.”

  Clara looked at her watch. “Well, just briefly,” she said.

  Verity got to her feet. “Come,” she said.

  Once they were in her room, Verity turned to Clara. “It’s quite bad,” she said. “I hope it won’t disturb you.”

  By this time Clara was consumed by curiosity. “Let me see,” she said.

  Verity unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down to her knees. She peeled her knickers down too and turned so that Clara could see her ass. There was silence for a minute.

  “What do you think?” demanded Verity.

  “Didn’t it hurt?” Clara asked. She was impressed but concerned for Verity’s welfare.

  “Of course it hurt,” Verity said. “That was the point, after all. But she went a bit further than normal.”

  Clara thought the woman must have gone a lot further. “And you enjoy it, the pain?”

  “In the right circumstances I do, yes.”

  “Is it common, to like that sort of thing?”

  “I don’t know how common it is. I guess there are degrees of tolerance. I can take a lot. Some girls can only take a few strokes, and not very hard. And of course some girls don’t like it at all.”

  “Do you think I would like it?” Clara asked. She had to know, now things had gone this far.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Verity said.

  “What do you want to do, smack my bottom with your hand?”

  “I could do that,” Verity said. “Over my lap.”

  Gingerly Clara settled herself on Verity’s lap, lying across it with her feet on the floor on one side and her hands on the floor on the other. Verity lifted Clara’s skirt, right up to the waist. As usual Clara was wearing white cotton knickers. Verity pulled them down to her knees.

  “You must try not to wriggle,” Verity said. “And not too much noise.”

  Clara held her breath. She wondered for a moment what she was doing, bent over a girl whom she hardly knew, exposing herself, about to have her bottom spanked. It was undignified. And what would her mother think? Fortunately she was sure her mother would never know.

  The first smack on her bottom was harder than she expected. She gave a little squeal, more of surprise than pain. The smack was on just one side of her bottom. Immediately another smack followed on the other side. Then the smacks alternated, left, right, left, right. After half a dozen her bottom was starting to sting. She couldn’t help shifting position a little.

  “Keep still,” said Verity sternly. Clara tried to do so, but the smacks were really hurting now. Was she being hit harder, or was it the cumulative effect? Both, probably, she reasoned. Why did people do this sort of thing, she wondered. Perhaps there was pleasure in being the one who smacked, having control and all that. But why on earth would anyone willingly accept pain?

  But after a few more spanks, things started to happen. For a start, Clara’s bottom began to get warm; it even felt like a kind of a glow, and that was not unpleasant. And there was something arousing about her situation, about the humiliation of another girl looking at her bare bottom, of smacking it as if she had the right to do so. And the spanks themselves, well, they were not unpleasant, in a way. Perhaps the moment of impact was too painful to be enjoyable, but immediately afterwards her bottom was left tingling, in a way that was really quite delightful. Something was starting to happen between her legs, she was getting the feeling she had got with Miss Flora, only more strongly, because it was being forced upon her, and although she couldn’t explain it that made it better. It wasn’t her fault what she was doing; she had been made to do it.

  Verity paused. Instead of smacking Clara’s bottom, she caressed it, stroking it with her hand, soothing. And then she did something rude but which Clara found exciting. She trailed one of her fingers over the tight little opening of her bottom. Clara gasped. It was a strange feeling, as if she was experiencing some forbidden pleasure. Clara shifted position slightly. Verity put her finger to her mouth and licked it. And then, very carefully, she began to push it into the tight little hole. Clara tensed.

  “Relax,” said Verity soothingly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

  The finger slipped just a little way into Clara’s bottom. “Oh,” she said. She was still tense; how could you possibly relax when someone was doing that to you? But Verity was
insistent. The finger continued to press into her and then it went in, quite a way. Clara wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. It was such a strange feeling, she would need to get used to it before she knew. But there was undeniably something exciting about the idea of it. It was by some way the most transgressive thing that Clara had ever done, perhaps the only really dirty thing. It was wicked, it was perverted, it was wrong. But that was what made it exciting. Clara waited for the finger to be pushed in further. Soon it was. It moved around inside her, such a disturbing sensation. And then the finger was removed.

  “Oh,” said Clara again. She became aware of another sensation, between her legs. This was more familiar. She knew she was wet and she could feel her clit was swollen and that it was begging for some attention. Clara wondered if she could ask Verity for that. But just then Verity told her to stand up.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  Blushing, Clara turned so that Verity could see her bottom.

  “It’s a nice colour,” she said. “A very pretty sight.”

  “Thank you,” said Clara. Was she thanking for the compliment, or the spanking? Both, she supposed.

  “That will be all for today,” Verity said. “But I think your responses show that you have a positive reaction. Something to work on. Would you like another session tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I would,” said Clara at once, before she could change her mind. She pulled up her knickers and smoothed down her skirt. She smiled at Verity and left the room, hurrying back to her own room as quickly as she could. As soon as she got there she looked at her bottom in the bathroom mirror. Verity was right; it was a pretty colour, a dark pink contrasting nicely with the whiteness of the surrounding skin.

  Clara went and lay on the bed. She knew what she was going to do. She pulled up her skirt and quickly took off her knickers, then put her hand between her legs. Goodness, it was wet. Whatever her mind thought about the spanking, there was no doubt of the effect on her body. She began to rub her clit, gently, almost teasingly, but even so it didn’t take long. The strength of the orgasm shook her. And five minutes later she gave herself another one. Am I becoming a sex addict, she wondered?

  Chapter Six

  Verity reported back to Miss Flora. “Clara is making remarkable progress. Considering that, as you say, she was a virgin only a few short days ago, I think we can now safely say that she has a definite leaning towards girls, in fact shows no interest in boys at all. And what is more, she is excited by coming under domination and chastisement.”

  “Really?” said Flora. “You spanked her?”

  “Yes I did,” Verity replied. “It was only over my knee, but I did it hard. And she got very wet. I am sure she still doesn’t understand her body and its responses, but there’s no doubt the fundamentals are there for a very valuable little pain-slut, if her training is handled right. She’s a horny little bitch, gets very wet and I think is surprised by her own awakening, but is now keen to go further.”

  Little did Verity know it, but at that moment Clara was in one of the showers out at the sports centre, looking around to see if she was observed, with a mind to giving herself the third orgasm of the day. Flora considered Verity’s report. She was tempted to take over. There were few things more rewarding than training a girl with potential who responded very positively to discipline, control and pain. It was a while since she had given such a girl a thorough thrashing. But there was so much work to be done. At that point Miss Bridget knocked, then quickly entered.

  She wanted to know what Verity was doing there. Quickly Flora filled her in on progress with Clara. Miss Bridget listened carefully. “I think Clara would benefit from more training. But my hands are full right now.”

  Bridget thought. “I’ll take her,” she said firmly. “Tell me, does she know anything of the Circle and our activities?”

  “I thought it best not to mention it yet, Miss Bridget. I didn’t think it was my place,” Verity said respectfully.

  “Quite correct,” said Miss Bridget. “You have done well.”

  Verity beamed. Compliments from Miss Bridget were much prized, and sometimes, it was rumoured, could lead to a place in Miss Bridget’s bed, a position highly desired, since it brought a girl much prestige among the other members of the Circle.

  It was arranged that Clara should present herself at Miss Bridget’s rooms the following afternoon. Clara was dressed in her usual garb of white blouse, a blue skirt with the hemline modestly just above the knee, and today long white cotton socks. She felt shy in Miss Bridget’s presence; she knew the girl was looked up to by the others, though she wasn’t yet sure why.

  “Now,” said Miss Bridget briskly, “this is going to be a confidential conversation. None of it will go beyond these walls.”

  “Very well, Miss Bridget,” Clara replied. What could there to be to talk about that was so private?

  “I understand that you have recently been introduced to the pleasures one girl can give another.”

  Clara blushed bright red. Was this something to be talked about with others? Miss Bridget noticed the blush. “There is no need to be shy,” she said.

  “No, Miss Bridget. I am sorry,” Clara said.

  “We are adults here,” said Miss Bridget. Clara didn’t in all honesty feel very grown up. “So tell me,” Miss Bridget went on, “have you heard of something called the Circle?”

  “No,” Clara said.

  “Let me explain. Within our little group we make a number of distinctions. Firstly, there are men. We have no regard for them and have no dealings with them beyond what is unavoidable. Second, there are different classes of women. There are those whose sexual relations are with men. We cast no aspersions on them for this failing, but we have nothing in common with such women. Within the lesbian community, among which we count ourselves, there are further distinctions to be made. Firstly, there are those who prefer what we call vanilla sex. Are you familiar with the term?”

  “No, Miss Bridget,” Clara said.

  Miss Bridget smiled indulgently. “You have evidently led a sheltered life. I hope we may broaden your horizons.”

  “Yes, Miss Bridget,” Clara said. That’s why I’ve come to college, she thought.

  “Vanilla sex means ordinary, straightforward sex, in the missionary position, preferably with the lights off.”

  Clara didn’t know what the missionary position was, but she shrank from exposing her ignorance further.

  “Of course,” said Miss Bridget, “some might say that lesbianism itself is a departure from vanilla. Be that as it may, many lesbians do not experiment much beyond a little fingering; oral sex may be as adventurous as they dare. Others, however, engage in a wide variety of practices: dressing up in various ways, the use of toys and other equipment, group sex and so forth.”

  Clara was intimidated by all the things she didn’t know about. But perhaps she would learn, gradually.

  “One form of experimental sex is generally referred to as bdsm, an acronym usually interpreted as bondage, domination, sadism and masochism. Some girls have a taste for this. They enjoy spanking, for example, or they prefer to be the spanker themselves.”

  Clara blushed again, at the memory of what Verity had done.

  “Now I understand that you have already demonstrated a willingness to engage in such behaviour.”

  “Well,” said Clara hesitantly, “I- “

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” said Miss Bridget. “On the contrary, be thankful that you have an extra string to your bow, so to speak. I am sure that your pleasures and talents in this direction will be developed and built upon. But there is one other distinction I must introduce you to. There are young girls who enjoy the company of other young girls. But there are other girls, my girls, who devote themselves to the provision of pleasure for older women, women who for whatever reason, circumstance or inclination, are willing to pay for such pleasure. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me say that our little enterprise is tightly organised a
nd regulated. Our girls charge a fee for their services, not to enrich themselves but as a way of collecting money for a deserving cause. That cause is our local women’s refuge, a centre in which abused and oppressed women may find help and support.”

  That sounded to Clara like a worthy cause. But could it really be true that girls at St Swithin’s took money for sex? She needed to know more.

  “The women we provide services for tend to be older, usually past the age of forty, often women who are unhappily married and seek the sexual pleasure they can only find with other women. Or women with unusual sexual tastes which not all lesbians are willing to participate in, or women who at a certain age find that their view of sex is changing. Having spent their lives as wives and mothers, they now wish to indulge themselves with what they prefer. Needless to say, our services do not come cheap, since our girls are highly attractive, discreet and trained to provide a wide range of specialities. The high fees tend to restrict our clientele to the more prosperous women who can afford them. My girls do not offer themselves to the woman in the street. We have a name for our clients; we refer to them as pussies. By contrast, the girls of the Circle are called cunts. Pussies are powerful, prosperous, proud. Cunts on the other hand are compliant, careless of their own needs though craving much.”

  “So if one is a member of the Circle, one is referred to as a cunt?” This was the first time she had ever used that word, and the first time she had ever heard it uttered in public. She felt rather daring.

  “Yes,” said Miss Bridget.

  “And are you a cunt, Miss Bridget?”

  “No, Clara. My position within the Circle entitles me to respect and the title of pussy.”