Miss Judith's Girls

Chapter Five-1

Chapter Five

“Now, girls, listen carefully.”

Half a dozen of Miss Judith’s girls were sitting on the floor in a semi-circle. Miss Judith sat on the edge of a table, looking down at them. “Some of you may have heard this before, but it is important, so listen again. There are two types of v****a in this world. On the one hand there is p***y. The p***y is prime, powerful, privileged and highly particular in its pleasures. And on the other hand there is cunt. The cunt is common, crude, compliant, controlled, even contemptible. The p***y is entitled, and it takes what it wants, though it is prepared to pay for quality. The cunt does what it is told. It has no right to pleasure in itself, except that which derives from serving p***y. As I am sure you have divined by now, I have a p***y. You girls are nothing but cunts. Cunts are trained to obedience and service, as you are finding out. Towards a p***y they are always respectful, deferential, even devoutly adoring. The p***y has pride from its position in the pecking order. The cunt has only the pride that comes from performing good work. It is always available for the purpose of pleasuring a p***y. Poor work will incur punishment. Good work is no more than is expected and therefore must not look for praise and reward. Do you understand all this?”

There were murmurs of assent. Miss Judith said, “I can’t hear you.” “Yes, Miss Judith,” the girls called out in unison.

“Of course,” said Judith, crossing then uncrossing her legs as she sat on the edge of the table, “superior p***y is not always dominant. Well, in fact it is, but not in the usual way. Or not in a simple way.”

She crossed her legs again. She liked to hear the swish as the nylons rubbed against each other. She liked to see how the girls looked at her legs. Horny little bitches, she thought. How they wish I would let them see higher up my skirt.

“Let me explain. A superior p***y is one whose refinement, sophistication and innate qualities of excellence entitle it to whatever it pleases in terms of the use it makes of inferior cunt. But some superior p*****s are masochistic by nature. They get pleasure from pain; from being whipped or having clamps applied to their n*****s or from the more arcane tortures of the c**t. The difference between the pain sought by the superior p***y and the pain which the common cunt craves is that in the case of the former, she is always in control. She will dictate where the whip falls, with what force, for how long. Whereas in the case of a submissive, masochistic little cunt like most of you, the pain is under the control of the dominant p***y who is applying it. Is that clear?

“Yes, Miss Judith,” said some of the girls.

But Hanna wanted further clarification. “But is it possible to be both ways, Miss Judith?” she asked. “Can a person sometimes want to control another girl and use her, hurt her, and at other times want to be out of control, submitting to another?”

Judith smiled. “Such a clever girl, Hannah. Such a bright, enquiring mind.”

The other girls looked round in envy. Compliments from Miss Judith were rare.

“Does this question derive from some personal experiences of your own, Hannah? Be frank.”

Hannah blushed. She was always shy of talking about herself in public. “Well, not exactly, Miss Judith. I don’t think I’ve had enough experience of s****l pain to tell if I am masochistic and/or dominant in that way.”

“I think perhaps we shall have to devise some scenarios for you and then we can investigate. Now off, you all go, it’s Frau Ledermann’s class in ten minutes. Observe her carefully today and afterwards you may tell me if you see anything different.”

On the way to the German class, Hannah thought about what Miss Judith had said. So did they actually have plans to hurt her? She rather hoped they would. And then she got to thinking, is that a submissive thought or a dominant one? Sometimes it was confusing. You thought you had got everything sorted out, and then you realised you hadn’t. That was why one needed training, she supposed. During the class, Hannah sat staring at Frau Ledermann, trying to make out if there were any changes, but she couldn’t see anything. Was she moving in a different way, perhaps as the result of something she was wearing under her clothes? Hannah didn’t notice anything new. Her mind drifted to what Miss Judith might intend for her.

At the end of Frau Ledermann’s class, Judith had some words with the German teacher, who was then told that she might go. The girls in Judith’s circle were asked to stay behind.

“Stand up, Hannah,” Miss Judith said. Hannah got shyly to her feet, aware that all eyes were upon her.

“Lift your skirt,” Miss Judith said.

Hannah raised it up to about the level of her crotch.

“Higher,” Miss Judith said. “We want to see what you are wearing underneath.”

Hannah lifted her skirt higher. The girls’ eyes were all riveted on what she had revealed. Her panties were white, of good quality cotton, pure, even virginal.

“What do you call that garment?” Miss Judith demanded. There could be little doubt to which garment she referred.

“My panties, Miss Judith?” Hannah said hesitantly.

“Hmm,” Miss Judith said. Evidently this was not the correct answer. Hannah did not know what else to say.

Miss Judith spoke again. “They say, what’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But I think that’s too simple. It doesn’t take into account the redolence of a word, its associations. Panties is such a silly little word,” said Miss Judith, staring at Hannah’s crotch and the offending item. “It’s a word for use in the nursery, I think. I much prefer the word which the English employ. They speak of knickers. I know that to the American ear it sounds odd; are not knickers what men wear when dressed for baseball? Or used to be. But the English have endowed it with a special resonance. In their mouths it suggests licentiousness, lasciviousness; it sounds, frankly, dirty. And isn’t this what we want for our girls? Not the modesty of panties, but the sexually louche word knickers. So for us, knickers it shall be. So what are you wearing, Hannah?”

“Knickers, Miss Judith,” Hannah said.

“Very good,” Miss Judith said. “Now, a word as to the kind of knickers they are. Often when you are required to give service, you won’t be wearing underwear at all. But when you do, Miss Felicity and I prefer that your knickers have a certain character. So, girls, what sort of character do you think that should be? Hannah’s are pure and white, little girl knickers, appropriate for attending classes. But are they appropriate for the kind of work you are training for?”

“No, Miss Judith,” one of the girls said.

“So what would be more appropriate?”

“Something more seductive,” said another girl. “More sensual.”

“More daring,” said another girl.

“Very well,” said Miss Judith. “Is any girl wearing such a pair of knickers? Would you like to show us?”

One girl stood up. Shyly she lifted her skirt. Underneath was a little pair of black silk knickers, with a red rosebud embroidered on the front. The girls all stared.

“That’s awfully pretty,” said Miss Judith. “And sexy too. Good choice, Emma.”

“Thank you, Miss Judith,” Emma said, blushing with pleasure.

“Anyone else like to show us something?” Miss Judith said. For a moment there was silence. Then another girl got to her feet and lifted her skirt. Underneath was a pair of lacy red knickers, with a little slit in the crotch.

“Oh,” said Miss Judith. “That’s both charming and classy. Well done, Portia. Did you buy them yourself?”

Portia blushed. “No, Miss Judith.”

“Then who did?”

“A gentleman admirer. An older man.”

“A man?” Miss Judith didn’t like the sound of this.

“I don’t see him anymore, Miss Judith,” Portia said.

“Why not?”

“Because I have made my decision, and men are not for me.”

“Well done,” said Miss Judith, beaming. “But we girls like sexy knickers as much as men, don’t we?”

“I hope so, Miss Judith,” Portia said.

“So, girls,” said Judith, “remember, it’s knickers not panties. And if they are pretty, so much the better. And just a word about bras. They should be all in the balconette style. That is to say, with the straps at the side, thus giving easy access to the n*****s. They should be cut low; I prefer a half-cup, which leaves the n*****s partly exposed. And one very important thing. Bras and knickers should always, always match. If I find any of you wearing odd under-garments, you will be whipped.”

Judith looked around at the assembled faces, all serious and attentive.

“Laura, stand up and take off your dress,” said Miss Judith.

A tall dark girl with a slim figure got to her feet. Quickly she slipped off her brightly coloured frock. Underneath she wore a pretty matching set of bra and knickers, in pink silk.

“I knew I could rely on you, Laura,” Miss Judith said. “Always immaculately turned out.”

Laura smiled shyly. Hannah saw some marks just above her n*****s. Could they be bruises? Had Laura’s modest little breasts been abused? It seemed more than likely. Hannah shuddered. I want that, she thought. No, I don’t. Well, just a tiny bit.

Laura was ordered to put her dress back on and the girls were dismissed. Hannah wanted to masturbate, but she didn’t trust herself to give a plausible denial if cross-questioned by Miss Judith. For the rest of the day her cunt ached softly. Sometime she managed to forget about it, but mostly she was only too aware.

The next day was warm and sunny. Hannah was sitting on the lawn with a book, wearing shorts, white ones, with white cotton knickers. And a white cotton bra under a white t-shirt. She looked the picture of innocence and purity. Felicity sought her out and sat down beside her. She wore a short, pleated skirt, so short that when she sat down Hannah caught a glimpse of black knickers.

“No more m**********n,” Felicity said.

“What?”

“You heard. We know you masturbate in bed every night. You think we can’t hear, but we can. You probably do it at other times too, don’t you?”

Hannah was silent. She could feel herself blushing.

“Let me explain something to you,” Felicity said. “Something you need to know, so listen carefully. As you have been told, there are two kinds of people in the world. There is p***y, and there is cunt. Of course we don’t count men; they don’t matter. p***y is prime, it is privileged, it is powerful. Cunt is coarse and common, and it is compliant. It consents. p***y demands the attention of cunts, which are there to serve. We guess that you belong in the second category. We are never wrong about such things. So we are going to train you to serve quality p***y. And ass too, of course. You will be taught the different techniques, how to find out what a client’s requirements are, how to bring about orgasm, how to delay it, how to induce anal orgasms, n****e orgasms, c**t orgasms, full p***y orgasms, the whole range. By the time we have finished with you, you will be a consummate lesbian w***e, able to bring off even the most dried-up, wizened old p***y. And we’ll find out if you also have a taste for pain. Some girls do, some don’t. Most do at least a little bit; we are good at persuading them that they can take more. There’s a special market for pain sluts.”

Hannah wasn’t ready to give in just yet. “And what will I get out of this? I can see you will have a lot of fun, but it sounds like it’s hard work for me.”

“Whores don’t think in that way. Nothing is for them. We’ll train you to think differently. And when we have, you will take pride in your work. That will be your satisfaction, that you have done well and brought pleasure to those whose p*****s are superior to yours.”

“It doesn’t, on the face of things, sound that inviting, I have to say,” Hannah retorted.

Without warning, Felicity slapped her hard on the face. “Uppity little cunt,” she snapped. “How dare you talk to me that way!”

Hannah rubbed her cheek. The blow had stung. But more than that, it had triggered something in her, something that twitched deep in her belly. Well, actually, it wasn’t quite there, it was lower down. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just trying to get things clear in my own mind.”

“Empty your mind,” Felicity said. “In future, your mind is between your legs. It’s in your cunt. That’s what you think with from now on.”

Hannah was silent. She didn’t want another slap. Although….

Felicity stood up. “It will be soon,” she said. “Sooner than you think.”

Hannah knew she was wet. I never knew I was such a slut, she said to herself. And yet these girls knew as soon as they saw me. Is it so obvious to others? Hannah didn’t see how it could be. She didn’t dress like a slut, she didn’t flirt with boys the way sluts did. All she did was masturbate a lot. But she knew that what made her slutty was not what she did but what she thought about. In particular what she thought about when she m*********d. And most especially she things she thought about these days, since she joined the sorority. Girls being hurt, pinched, stretched, forced to admit to liking it. Girls being made to use their mouths, their lips and tongues, to pleasure other girls to order. And it was her turn next.

She got up and went in search of a bathroom. Just after she let herself in and turned the lock she remembered what Felicity had ordered: no more m**********n. But what was she to do? She couldn’t concentrate on her work feeling like this. It wasn’t just a tingle down there, now it was an ache; her whole body trembled with desire. She took down her shorts and her knickers and leaned up against the wall. She put her hand between her legs. It was wet there, really wet. She slid a finger inside, then two. Then three. She wondered what it was like being fisted. Could you do it to yourself? Maybe if you got in the right position; in the toilet cubicle that was difficult. Instead, she began to stroke her c**t. God, it was big, so swollen, and hard too. Would they find out if she went all the way? Perhaps she would blurt out a confession. She knew that was possible. And then they would punish her. Slap her, perhaps. Slap her face, slap her c**t. God! She came, stifling a cry of pleasure.