Miss Bridget's Girls

by Robin Bond

  “And Miss Flora?”

  “She too is a pussy. All the rest of you are cunts. Some of you engage in regular, more or less vanilla sex. Some of you are trained, if the inclination is there, to take punishment. And one or two of our girls are trained to dominance.”

  “I see,” said Clara. She supposed Verity was one of those.

  “Before we can accept you into the Circle, we need to know exactly what sort of girl you are. Miss Flora informs me that you have an inclination towards submission and may even be a pain-slut, eager for punishment. So I propose to find out. Stand up and take your clothes off, Clara.”

  Something fluttered in the base of Clara’s belly. She was excited, yet apprehensive. What if Miss Bridget went too far? She was still a novice, after all. She undressed slowly, folding her clothes over the back of her chair. Miss Bridget stood up and approached her. She stood close and took Clara’s nipples between her fingers and thumbs. She squeezed them. Hard, then harder. Clara gasped. Miss Bridget twisted them. Clara groaned. Miss Bridget stuck her nails into Clara’s nipples, lifted her upwards, onto her toes. Clara squealed.

  Miss Bridget smiled, then let Clara down again. Miss Bridget rubbed her nipples gently. “It’s nice when it stops, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Yes, Miss Bridget,” said Clara, suspecting that there would be more pain shortly.

  Miss Bridget lifted a hand and brought it down smartly on Clara’s right breast. She did the same on the other side. She began to slap Clara’s breasts repeatedly, one side then the other, sometimes on the upper part of the breast, sometimes lower down, catching the nipple. Clara tried to breathe deeply, hoping that would lessen the pain, but it didn’t really. Her breasts were tingling, smarting.

  Miss Bridget stopped and put a hand between Clara’s legs, forcing a finger up inside her.

  “Ah,” said Clara.

  “Shh,” said Miss Bridget. She moved her finger around inside Clara for a moment, then took it out and held it up for her to see. It was glistening with Clara’s juices.

  “You see? Wet,” said Miss Bridget. “It seems you have a reaction to what I’m doing. Do you like it?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Bridget,” Clara said. “Yes, and no. It hurts but it’s nice when it stops.”

  Miss Bridget smiled. Suddenly she gripped Clara by the cunt, wrapping her fingers around the lips, squeezing hard. Clara gasped. Miss Bridget tightened her grip. Clara whimpered. To be taken in such a manner, in the most intimate place, was shaming; especially since Cara knew her cunt was getting even wetter.

  Miss Bridget relaxed her grip. She bent down and put her mouth to one of Clara’s nipples, kissing it, then sucking on it and finally seizing it between her teeth. Clara moaned, then cried out as Miss Bridget bit her hard. She took her mouth away. Clara looked down and could see bite marks on her breast.

  “Turn around,” said Miss Bridget.

  Clara did as she was told. Miss Bridget slapped her hard across the ass. She forced a finger into Clara’s cunt again, took it out and began to force it into her anus. Clara was shocked, despite her previous experience with Verity. Never would she have imagined anyone would do such a thing to her; yet now it was being done again. Instinctively she tightened the muscles of her sphincter. This only made her hole smaller and Miss Bridget had to push harder. Clara cried out. “Please, it’s hurting, Miss Bridget.”

  “Nonsense,” said Miss Bridget. “We’ve hardly started.”

  She began to move her finger in and out of Clara’s ass. After a while she relaxed a little and it was not quite so painful. But it was still humiliating. Having her ass used for sexual purposes was not something Clara could ever have envisaged.

  Miss Bridget removed her finger from Clara’s bottom. She held it to Clara’s mouth. “Suck it clean,” she said.

  Clara turned her head away; it was the most disgusting thing she had ever heard of. Miss Bridget slapped her hard on the face. “When I tell you to do something, you do it,” she said. “Now suck it. Don’t be so squeamish.”

  Gingerly Clara bent her head and opened her mouth. Miss Bridget pushed her finger inside. She didn’t like that taste, flat, earthy, and it smelled too. But she licked and swallowed and it was gone. Miss Bridget took Clara by the arm and bent her over the desk. Clara knew a spanking was coming. But what with? In the corner was a cupboard. Miss Bridget opened it and took out a kind of whip, with several leather thongs attached to a wooden handle.

  “This is my flogger,” said Miss Bridget. “It doesn’t hurt much, not really, unless I use it very hard. It’s good for getting girls warmed up before the real beating begins.”

  Clara eyed the flogger warily. Surely it must hurt a bit. And what might not seem much to Miss Bridget might be a lot to her. She clung on to the sides of the desk, bracing herself. She heard a swish and then a crack, as the flogger struck her full across the rump. Clara squealed and hopped from one foot to the other.

  “Keep still,” said Miss Bridget sharply. The flogger swished again. Clara gritted her teeth. It was all very well for Miss Bridget to say it didn’t hurt much. To Clara’s mind, the flogger stung quite a bit. The flogging went on until Clara’s bottom was a fetching shade of pink. Miss Bridget paused, stroking Clara’s bottom thoughtfully. Most clients liked a girl who marked well. Clara was coming along nicely.

  “Time for the strap,” said Miss Bridget. She picked up a heavy leather strap. When it hit Clara’s bottom it made a loud crack. Clara cried out and put her hands to her bottom, rubbing furiously.

  “Do not, ever, put your hands to your bottom when you are being spanked by me,” said Miss Bridget sternly.

  “I am sorry, Miss Bridget,” Clara said. But it stung dreadfully. A second stroke followed, then a third. Clara groaned. She couldn’t help transferring her weight from one foot to another, though that didn’t offer much relief. Further strokes followed, each around the centre of Clara’s bottom, which increasingly felt on fire. It was getting bright red now, Miss Bridget observed with satisfaction.

  Miss Bridget put the strap down. “Let’s see what we can do with the paddle,” she said. She picked up a heavy wooden paddle, smooth on each side. Miss Bridget swung it to and fro. She always liked the way this paddle felt in her hand, just the right weight, well-balanced, delivering a good solid thwack.

  Clara yelled when the paddle struck and stumbled forward from the weight of the blow. Unlike the flogger and the strap, which stung the skin, the paddle seemed to penetrate, going deep into the flesh, shaking poor Clara up inside. She trembled at the thought of the second stroke as she got back into position. Please, I can’t take much of this, she thought. But Miss Bridget was relentless, plying the paddle determinedly until Clara’s bottom was taking on a purple hue, though in the centre of each buttock was a paler spot, which Miss Bridget knew would transform into a dark bruise.

  At last the paddle was lowered, but Miss Bridget had not quite finished. “You are doing well, my dear,” she said. “But the ultimate test of whether a girl is suited to this work is how well she takes the cane.” She picked up a short cane made of some synthetic material, flexible but not too much so. It had a comfortable wooden handle which fitted nicely into Miss Bridget’s palm and was her favourite instrument.

  “You will receive twelve strokes,’ she announced. “They will be hard, though not the hardest I am capable of, and one day perhaps you may, when you are more habituated, experience harder. Do try to keep still until I have concluded.”

  Clara whimpered. She desperately wanted to please Miss Bridget, but she doubted she could remain motionless while her poor bottom was further assaulted. Already it throbbed and ached. The cane landed with precision right across both buttocks. Clara let out a cry. It was as if a rod of fire had been applied to her already tormented skin. The temptation to rub herself was almost irresistible. Mercifully, the rest of the strokes followed quickly, leaving Clara no time to consider how she could possibly survive the next one. But when the cane was finally lowered,
Clara burst into floods of tears.

  “I am sorry, Miss Bridget, I can’t help it, the pain is so bad.”

  “You may rub it now if you wish, my dear,” Miss Bridget said. She looked on as Clara gingerly rubbed herself. The girl’s bottom was a most inviting sight. Such a pretty colour, a mixture of pink and red and purple. Miss Bridget was sorely tempted to fuck her, to put on her harness with its great, thick dildo and force it between those delicate cheeks. But Miss Bridget was proud of the self-discipline she exercised. She knew it would be better to keep Clara focussed on one thing at a time. Later, perhaps, she would be the one to take the girl’s anal virginity. If Miss Flora had not already done so; she thought it was unlikely Miss Flora had yet advanced to buggering Clara’s delicious little ass. Miss Bridget resolved to reserve that for herself.

  Chapter Seven

  “There are two ladies,” said Miss Bridget to Cordelia. “They want to hire you together. They have a somewhat complicated relationship, as far as I can make out. I am not quite sure where you will fit in, but no doubt they will make clear what they want you to do.”

  Cordelia was a serious-minded girl, and clever. She attended to her studies assiduously. She didn’t much care for the excited chatter that passed for conversation amongst most of Miss Bridget’s girls, instead preferring solitary reading, or a walk in the grounds. She dressed rather severely, often in a grey flannel skirt, white blouse and sweater, not too tight. Miss Flora had observed about her that there probably wasn’t a single pair of jeans in her wardrobe.

  Her face had a certain nobility about it. Though she could smile, it was not often, but she had an air of calm and quietness about her that Miss Bridget appreciated after all the time she spent with the other girls, whose heads were mainly filled with discussions about fashion, and gossip about which girl was seeing whom.

  Miss Bridget wondered at first whether Cordelia was too serious to join the Circle. But when Miss Bridget explained to her its ideals, she became interested, asking a lot of questions about what was done with the money and asking if she might volunteer at the women’s refuge sometime. She and Miss Bridget discussed the place of the Circle within feminism, and how it might contribute to the further emancipation of women generally. “Though of course,” Cordelia said, “my chief interest is always in those women who prefer their own sex.”

  “Quite so,” Miss Bridget had said.

  When she got a call from Miss Brigstone asking for a girl to be shared with her partner Miss Jones, Miss Bridget thought of Cordelia. She had the intelligence and sensitivity to fit into the relationship between the two women. And Cordelia was a good-looking girl, whom any client would be happy to have visit. Miss Bridget had not seen Cordelia naked. It was the practice for any girl who was being taken into the Circle to be “broken in”, as it were, either by Miss Bridget or Miss Flora. In the case of Cordelia it was Miss Flora who had taken her to bed. She reported back that Cordelia had a beautiful body, graceful, with full breasts and prominent nipples, a lovely round bottom, and a cunt which in the world of porn would have been described as “meaty” but which Flora preferred to call “fully fledged”. Flora also said that her love-making was both eager and skilful. “She made me come three times,” Flora had added at the bottom of her report. “PS I think she has the makings of a dominant.”

  Accordingly arrangements were made, and Cordelia duly arrived one afternoon at a large house on the outskirts of town. She had put on her best summer frock, had put up her long dark hair and carefully applied some minimal make-up, besides giving herself a few dabs of her favourite perfume.

  Miss Brigstone answered the door and welcomed her in. She was a tall woman, perhaps about forty, wearing a short black skirt and a crisp white blouse, under which Cordelia glimpsed the outline of some expensive white underwear. She led Cordelia into her sitting room, as she described it. Seated on the sofa was Miss Jones, a pretty girl, at least ten years younger, with blonde curls and big blue eyes. It was a warm day and Miss Jones wore white shorts and a white t-shirt, as if for tennis.

  “At this time of the afternoon, if we are both at home, we usually have a pink gin. Would you care to join us?” Miss Brigstone asked.

  Although Cordelia had heard of pink gins, she wasn’t entirely sure what they were, but she was happy to try. The three women sat for a moment, sipping their cocktails. Then Miss Brigstone spoke. “I did not say much to Miss Bridget when I described our situation. It’s a little complicated for those who are not familiar with this sort of thing. Are you aware of the term ‘cuckquean’?”

  “No,” said Cordelia. “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain.”

  “The term is normally employed about a woman in a relationship with a dominant man. But there is no reason why should not be applied to relationships such as that between Miss Jones and myself. In our case, the cuckquean is one part of a triangle. Her primary relationship is with the dominant woman, to whom she belongs and whom she obeys. She herself is submissive. But there is a third part of the triangle, those whom the dominant partner chooses to bring into the relationship. From time to time I fuck other women. Miss Jones has no choice but to accept this. She is submissive to the other woman too, serves her needs and does her best to keep her happy. Sometimes she is invited to participate in the sex, sometimes she is excluded from it. She accepts both with equanimity.”

  Cordelia looked at Miss Jones, who kept her eyes down. Like a true submissive, Cordelia thought. “I have a question,” Cordelia said.

  “Yes?” said Miss Brigstone.

  “Does Miss Jones have other relationships too?”

  “No,” said Miss Brigstone firmly. “She does not, except in so far as she takes part in the sex I have with the other woman. She does not have an independent life sexually.”

  “These other girls you bring in, how do you find them?”

  “The other woman is called a cuckcake. I find them at clubs, sometimes through work. Or on occasion on dating apps. This is the first time we have hired a girl to play the role of cuckcake.”

  “And that will be to do what?”

  “You will have sex with me. The sex will be enjoyable for both of us, I hope. Miss Jones will watch, and take part if told to do so. But she is not allowed to take the initiative.”

  “Very well,” said Cordelia. It seemed a curious relationship, but one which offered possibilities. “Will you be dominating me?” she asked.

  “I think that side of it will have to emerge rather than being decided in advance. If the desire and the will are there, I may make you do things. I have been assured by Miss Bridget that you have been trained to play such a role.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Cordelia said.

  “Good,” said Miss Brigstone briskly. “Then let’s begin. Miss Jones, take Cordelia’s clothes off.”

  Cordelia stood up and allowed Miss Jones to remove her garments one by one. She was not as a rule shy about being naked before others. More than one woman had told her she had a good body, and she was confident enough of her looks. But once she stood naked, with Miss Brigstone looking at her closely, as if she were an exhibit in a gallery, or rather a slave girl at an auction house, Cordelia felt more self-conscious.

  “On your knees,” Miss Brigstone said to Miss Jones, who immediately got on the floor, like a little puppy dog, Cordelia thought.

  “Do you think Cordelia is pretty?” Miss Brigstone asked Miss Jones.

  “Yes, miss,” Miss Jones said. “She has lovely breasts and from what I can see she has a beautifully florid cunt.”

  Cordelia blushed slightly at being spoken of in this way. Miss Jones crawled around behind her. “She had a nice ass, miss. Perhaps you will wish to spank it. I would like to kiss it.”

  “Then do so,” Miss Brigstone said.

  Miss Jones rested back on her heels behind Cordelia. She took hold of her buttocks and pulled them gently apart. She fastened her mouth to Cordelia’s ass, kissing, sucking. Cordelia found it a very erotic feeling and was beginning
to lose her inhibitions. The pink gin might have helped with that.

  “Dig your tongue in. I want you rimming her,” Miss Brigstone said. Cordelia, who was after all still relatively new to this kind of sex, didn’t know the word, but she soon learned its meaning as Miss Jones dug the tip of her tongue into Cordelia’s asshole, then licked it round and round. Despite her enlightening afternoon with Flora, Cordelia had never yet had any experience of anal penetration, but there was no doubt that it was a sensitive spot.

  While Miss Jones continued to work her ass, Miss Brigstone went up to Cordelia and looked her in the eyes. “Do you prefer to be hurt or hurt others?” she said.

  Cordelia felt she had hardly enough experience of either to be sure. Sensing her indecision, Miss Brigstone took hold of Cordelia’s nipples between her fingers and thumbs and squeezed them hard, pulling upwards, lifting Cordelia half off her feet. She gasped. Miss Brigstone twisted the nipples. The pain was sharp. Cordelia tried to lift herself up further to diminish it, but the more she did so the more Miss Brigstone lifted her hands.

  Looking Cordelia in the eyes, Miss Brigstone said, “Should you like to do something of this kind to Miss Jones? She’s a little pain slut. I have trained her to take any amount of pain and to say thank you afterwards.”

  “Very well,” said Cordelia. She got a funny little twitch in her cunt at the idea.

  Miss Brigstone let go of Cordelia’s nipples. She took a step behind Cordelia, reached down and grabbed Miss Jones by the hair. She pulled her roughly to her feet, Miss Jones squealing. Miss Brigstone slapped her face. “Shut up, you little slut,” she said. “We’ve hardly started.”

  She took hold of Miss Jones’s arms, pinioning them behind her back. “Hurt her,” she said to Cordelia.

  Cordelia lifted up Miss Jones t-shirt. Underneath she wore no bra. Cordelia dug her nails into Miss Jones’s nipples. She whimpered. Cordelia twisted her fingers, still digging in hard. Miss Jones moaned. Cordelia let go of Miss Jones’s breasts. She could see the nipples, small and brown, were hard. On an impulse she slapped one of them hard.