Miss Bridget's Girls

“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.