Miss Bridget's Girls

by Robin Bond

  As she removed her hand from her knickers she resolved that she would organise some training sessions for her girls on the techniques and rewards of self-denial. It would be good for the licentious little sluts to learn control. In the meantime, there was business to be done. She rearranged her clothing just as the doorbell sounded. One of her girls needed briefing about her next assignment.

  “Miss Price is not the usual sort of client, Sheba,” said Miss Bridget. “She is forty years old, unmarried and as far as I know a virgin. At least, that would be my guess. Most importantly, she is a devout Catholic. She goes to Mass regularly and to confession every month, though what sins she has to confess I cannot imagine. But it seems, despite this, she labours under a burden of guilt. Perhaps in her mind she commits sins. Perhaps she has dark fantasies which she needs to confess. And that is why she needs to be regularly scourged.”

  “Scourged, Miss Bridget?”

  “It means that she needs to be whipped. Chastised. To purge her of the sins which she can scarcely bring herself to name.”

  “I see, Miss Bridget,” Sheba said. She didn’t, really. She supposed this poor woman was some sort of religious nut. She’d heard women could get that way when they were old. (Forty was old, surely?) Especially if they’d never had a man. Or better still a woman, one who knows what to do, understands women’s needs and how to meet them, how to manipulate their bodies until they cry out with pleasure. Like Sheba believed she herself could, now that she had been trained by Miss Bridget.

  “So, Sheba, you will go to Miss Price and whip her. Do not hold back. She was most insistent that it must be hard enough to mark her. ‘If the blood runs, so be it. I need it to be vicious, Miss Bridget,’ she said. ‘Otherwise it does not have the right effect, do you see?’”

  “Where does she need to be whipped, Miss Bridget?” Sheba asked.

  “You will start on her back. It’s called flagellation,” Bridget said. “Then gradually you will work down to her bottom.”

  “Not between her legs, Miss Bridget?” Miss Flora had whipped her between her legs during training. Sheba had not forgotten the sensation.

  “No,” said Miss Bridget decisively.

  “And not on her tits either? That’s where you can do some serious damage.” Sheba’s nipples had been sore for days after a session with Miss Flora. Some of the girls thought Miss Flora more severe than Miss Bridget herself.

  “No,” said Miss Bridget firmly. “It appears that only the back and the bottom are appropriate for scourging. It must be done with a flogger, one of the heavy ones which I will supply to you. I understand that in the old days floggers were sometimes metal-tipped, which would rip the poor victim’s flesh to shreds.”

  Sheba shuddered.

  “Of course,” said Miss Bridget with a smile, “we don’t go that far. Not usually.”

  Sheba was given the time and date and address of the appointment, and before she left Miss Bridget opened the cupboard and took out a flogger. It had thick strips of leather attached to a wooden handle. Floggers in general, as Sheba had discovered, are not the worst things to be beaten with. In fact the effect can often be soothing. But this one looked rather more serious. Sheba gave it an experimental swish. She considered that despite what Miss Bridget had said, this Miss Price perhaps needed the application of a flogger in all sorts of places.

  Sheba thought it was a little strange that the first appointment she was given after the conclusion of her training was to whip a client. She had been trained to be the servant of clients’ wishes, and almost all of the ladies who engaged Miss Bridget’s girls were dominant. They were the ones who dished it out, not the ones who received it. But Sheba was proud to serve. She adored Miss Bridget and would do anything for her. She would do her very best with the devout Miss Price.

  Miss Price was tall and lean, with grey hair pulled back. She wore a plain black dress, the hemline covering her knees, with flat shoes. Sheba couldn’t see any make-up. She offered Sheba a cup of tea, which in the absence of anything stronger she accepted.

  “I know I am not like your usual clients,” Miss Price said. “I don’t have relations with other people, neither men nor women. I try to live a pure and blameless life. But as we are taught, no one is without sin. We can be absolved of our sins, but only if we confess and then do penance.”

  “And that’s where I come in?” Sheba said. “Dishing out the penance?”

  “That is one way of putting it,” said Miss Price primly.

  “Who do you confess to?” Sheba thought she could do a better job if she understood a bit more about Miss Price. After all, she wasn’t the type of woman Sheba usually encountered.

  “To the priest, of course,” said Miss Price.

  “So why doesn’t he hand out the penance himself?”

  Miss Price blushed. “Well, he does, in a way. It’s usually a few Hail Marys. But I find that’s not enough. Not enough to make me feel true absolution, and not enough to make me resolve to sin no more.”

  Sheba thought about this. “I should like to help you,” she said. “But in order to do so I feel that rather than proceeding straight to the penance, we ought to go through the whole process.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” said Miss Price

  “Why don’t I take the priest’s role, and you confess to me, and then I’ll prescribe the penance, making sure it’s a harsh one.”

  Miss Price swallowed hard and squirmed a little in her seat on the sofa. Sheba thought she had touched a nerve. “I’m not sure that wouldn’t be blasphemous,” Miss Price said.

  “I wouldn’t really be claiming to be a priest. I wouldn’t be deceiving you. It would just be role-play. And it’s all in a good cause, making sure you expiate your sins fully. That’s the right word, isn’t it? Expiate?”

  “Yes, that’s the right word. Do you think you really have it in you to be strict enough?”

  “I think I do, Miss Price,” Sheba said.

  Miss Price looked at her, as if weighing things up in her mind. Sheba was a well-built girl. She certainly looked capable of handing out a whipping. Miss Price took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said.

  “Good!” exclaimed Sheba. “Now let’s get this right. I shall sit in that wooden chair over there. You will kneel behind me so that I cannot see your face. And then you will confess. I’ll ask you questions and you’ll answer truthfully, telling me what I need to know. And then I’ll decide on the penance.”

  “Can I put on a hat?” Miss Price asked. “I always wear a hat in church.”

  “Of course,” said Sheba.

  Miss Price went out and came back in a hat, a rather old-fashioned affair in black felt. She got down on her knees behind the chair.

  “Forgive me, father, for I have sinned,” she said. She supposed it was all right to say father.

  “In what way have you sinned, my child?” Sheba was agog to hear what sins this elderly virgin could have committed.

  There was silence for a moment. Then Miss Price spoke, in a low voice. “I have thoughts, father.”

  “What sort of thoughts?”

  There was a longer silence. “You must be open and honest with me if you are seeking to be absolved of your sins,” Sheba said. She was enjoying this.

  “I had a dream the other night. I was walking naked through the streets.” Miss Price paused.

  “And?”

  “People were looking at me. A woman tried to touch me.”

  “Touch you where? You must be specific.”

  “Between my legs, father.”

  “Did you allow it?”

  “I wanted to, father. But I hurried on. I came to a girls’ school. I was ordered inside and paraded naked before all the girls. Then the headmistress said she was going to make an example of me.”

  “How?”

  “She had a cane, father.”

  “And she beat you?”

  “No, the dream ended there, father.”

  “I see,” said Sheba. �
�And how do you feel about this dream?”

  There was another long silence. “I was aroused, father. I felt I deserved the beating.”

  ‘Now you must answer the next question very carefully. When you awoke and thought about your dream, what did you do?”

  “What did I do?”

  “Did you take any physical action?”

  The silence this time was so long that Sheba wondered if Miss Price had left her. Then she spoke. “I put my hand between my legs, father. Just to see if I was really aroused or if I only imagined it.”

  “And what did you find?”

  Again there was a silence before Miss Price spoke “I found I was wet, father.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I touched a little more. I started to feel wicked.”

  “And then?”

  “Please, father, I thought if I touched some more the wicked feeling would go away.”

  “And did it?”

  “It got worse, father.”

  “And then?”

  “I am ashamed to say, father.”

  “You must tell, or I cannot give you absolution, my child,”

  “A feeling came over me, like a religious experience. I felt I was carried away into bliss.”

  “I do not think it was a religious experience, my child. I think it was a mortal sin.” Sheba could hear Miss Price quietly weeping. “You have sinned most grievously, child,” said Sheba, in what she hoped was a solemn tone. “You must do a heavy penance.”

  Sheba stood up. “You will lie across this chair,” Sheba said, “and I shall administer a penance which I think will make you sincerely repent of your sins.”

  Miss Price took up her position over the chair, her hands on the floor, her feet on the other side. Sheba lifted up her dress, right up to the waist. Miss Price wore a pair of voluminous black cotton knickers. Sheba peeled them down to her knees, to reveal a rather scrawny pale white bottom with some marks which looks to Sheba like old bruises from a previous penance.

  She fetched the flogger which Miss Bridget had given her and stood over Miss Price, observing her bared bottom. Then she remembered that Miss Bridget had said that Miss Price should be scourged on her back. Oh, well, later perhaps. She swished the flogger to and fro. Then she raised her arm high and brought it down full force onto Miss Price’s buttocks. Miss Price whimpered. She shifted position slightly.

  “Keep still,” Sheba ordered. She struck Miss Price again, right across the centre of her buttocks. Sheba was gratified to see Miss Price’s ass was starting to colour already. She’d never given anyone a proper whipping before; she was beginning to see the attraction.

  After a while Miss Price’s bottom was looking decidedly red. Sheba wondered if perhaps she ought to follow Miss Bridget’s instructions and give her a scourging on the back.

  “Stand up,” she ordered. Miss Price got uncertainly to her feet.

  “Take off your clothes,” Sheba ordered.

  Miss Price seemed to hesitate, but when she saw Sheba’s determined face she began to undress. Miss Price’s body was skinny. Her breasts were small, though with surprisingly large nipples. Her pubic hair was untended, though a little wispy. It was not a body Sheba desired, but then she wasn’t here to fuck Miss Price, but to chastise her. And that she would do.

  She had an idea. Sheba was wearing jeans, tight as always. She took off her belt. “Follow me,” she said to Miss Price. Sheba led her to the stairs and climbed up several steps, leaving Miss Price at the bottom. “Come close and face me,” she said, “and lift your arms right up.”

  Using her belt, she quickly she tied Miss Price’s hands to the balustrade. Then she went back down the stairs and stood behind her. Sheba began at the top, lashing Miss Price across the shoulders. Miss Price gave a gasp, instinctively trying to free her hands, but in vain. Sheba hit her again, then again. The flogger made a nice sound as it cracked against Miss Price bare flesh, which soon showed the mark of multiple blows, red stripes which at first were distinct but then as more blows landed merged into a patch of dark red.

  Sheba had been told that whipping should not take place across the small of the back for fear of damage to the kidneys. So she moved down to Miss Price’s bottom, renewing her attack on her already strongly marked buttocks. After making them even deeper red, Sheba tried an experimental stroke across the back of Miss Price’s thighs. She gave a yell and spun around.

  “Turn back,” Sheba said sternly. She hit Miss Price across the back of her thighs again, harder, because she had been annoyed by her attempt to shield herself. Miss Price cried out. Sheba kept going. Miss Price danced around, trying to avoid the blows, but the flogger followed her, landing more blows.

  Sheba lowered her arm. What next, she wondered? She wasn’t inclined to stop yet. She was sure that Miss Price needed further chastisement. Masturbation was a serious sin, was it not? Sheba smiled to herself. When she got back to her room she would take great pleasure in slowly taking off her clothes, rubbing her nipples then allowing her hand to creep slowly between her legs, seeking out her eager and doubtless swollen clit.

  “Turn around and face me,” Sheba ordered. Miss Price did so, but when she saw Sheba raise the whip once more she appealed for mercy. “I have done full penance, surely. I have paid the price of my sin. Can you not absolve me now?”

  “Be quiet,” said Sheba. “Do you think a sinner may dictate the terms of her own atonement?”

  Sheba lashed the whip across Miss Price’s defenceless breasts. Miss Price gave a wail. Sheba hit her again. There was a certain aesthetic appeal in seeing such sharp little breasts adorned with red lines across the white flesh. Sheba took careful aim and landed the next stroke on the left breast, right on the nipple. Miss Price screamed. Sheba hit her again, this time on the other breast. Her blood was up now; she was going to hurt this woman in a way she had never been hurt before, she was going to break her, reduce her to a quivering, sobbing wreck.

  Sheba plied the whip across Miss Price’s breasts several more times, then lowered her aim to Miss Price’s belly. It was lean and flat. Soon it was marked with more of the distinctive red stripes the whip made. The strokes got lower and lower. Miss Price begged for mercy again. She knew what was coming, and she felt a real terror of the whip landing right across her pubis, right across her cunt. That surely would be unbearable.

  “Open your legs,” Sheba said. “You will receive six more strokes, hard ones. If at any time you close your legs to try and protect yourself, we shall go back to the beginning. I can go on for as long as it takes.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Miss Price opened her legs. She stared at the whip in Sheba’s hand, holding her breath as she saw the whip descend. It struck her groin, but since it was coming downwards it did not directly strike her pussy. It was, all the same, a vicious blow, and she cried out. Sheba shifted her position slightly and this time flicked the whip upwards. It struck Miss Price full on her pussy. She screamed. Instinctively, she went to pull her legs together, then remembered. With gritted teeth she forced herself to hold them open. The whip struck again. This time it was harder, since Sheba had worked out how she needed to stand in order to get the maximum force on Miss Price’s pussy.

  Sheba waited a moment, for the force of the blow to sink in. I’m beginning to get the hang of this thing, she told herself. With a bit more practice I could be really good at it. Maybe Miss Bridget has some more masochistic clients.

  She cracked the whip against Miss Price’s pussy again. There was a yell from Miss Price. Her body shook uncontrollably. Sheba was excited; the fear on Miss Price’s face was making her wet inside her jeans. She’d take care of that as soon as she got home.

  The last two strokes of the whip were delivered with extreme force, each one causing Miss Price to scream and dance around. Sheba could see how desperately she wanted to put her hands between her legs, to soothe her poor aching pussy.

  Sheba went to untie her. “When your hands are free,” she said, “ther
e is to be no touching your pussy, do you understand?”

  Miss Price nodded miserably. Released at last, she staggered and almost fell. Sheba caught her by the arm and led her back into the sitting room.

  “Now,” she said, “you are to kneel in the submissive position. Head pressed to the floor, arms stretched out in front, Knees apart, back arched, bottom up. You will stay in that position for one hour after I am gone. Then you will get dressed and go about your business.”

  Miss Price got down on the floor. Sheba walked around her. She was satisfied with her work. She pressed her foot against Miss Price’s pussy, and on a whim she kicked it. Miss Price moaned. Sheba looked down at her shoe and saw the unmistakable sign that Miss Price was wet, very wet. Maybe this was a sin too. Something to think about before her next visit. She got out her phone and took a few pictures, included one of Miss Price’s pussy, red and puffy from the whip. Perhaps Miss Bridget would like to see them.

  Sheba got her things together, took one backward glance at Miss Price kneeling on the floor, and went out. Miss Price continued to kneel. Now that the pain had abated, her pussy was throbbing insistently, in a manner that made her desperate to touch it. She could feel it was wet as well as sore. How well her fingers would be able to deliver relief. But it was not allowed. Miss Price was an honest person. She had made a bargain with Sheba. If she cheated on it, what was the point of submitting to such an ordeal?

  After half an hour her pussy was throbbing as badly as ever. What could she do? And then she had an idea. Upstairs in the bedroom she had been making some new curtains. As well as some thick green velvet for the curtains she had bought a long length of silk rope to make a sash. Once the hour was up she got to her feet and ascended the stairs. She cut a length of the rope. She tied it around her waist like a belt, knotting it tightly at the back, just above her bottom. She drew the rope forward between her legs, keeping it to one side of her pussy lips, then pulled it up as tight as she could manage. She looped it over the girdle at the front, then back down and between her legs again, this time to the other side of the pussy lips, and looping it at the back. Finally, making sure the rope remained tight, she drew it forward once more, this time positioning it very carefully between the first two lengths. The two lengths of ropes squeezed the lips of her pussy, and the middle one dug between them and pressed down upon Miss Price’s clit. With one final strong pull she knotted the rope around her waist.