Bridget the Subdomme

I served as Mistress Angela's house slave for two years, and had an easy life with her. I didn't realize it, though—not until she made a choice that changed everything. Mistress Angela had a circle of domme friends who visited her regularly, and one evening she upended my world by giving me to one of them on a whim. That is, she gave me away as a permanent party gift.

The friend was an icy blond bitch-goddess named Mistress Stephanie, and she was the last one that I would have chosen to serve

if

I'd had any choice. She would throw her coat in my face when I answered the door, order me about, and verbally abuse me for the smallest mistake. And then suddenly, she was no longer just an occasional visitor that ruffled my feathers. I found myself living in her home and she was my new full-time mistress.

Mistress Stephanie was wealthier than Mistress Angela. She lived in a spacious house with her two apprentice dommes, Lucy and Erica. They were in their early twenties, a little younger than the mistress. Lucy was a black-haired girl with a small, firm body. She was quick-tempered and mean, somewhat like Mistress Stephanie. Erica was quite different; lithe with pale red hair, a soft southern accent, and gentle manner. I know that "gentle domme" sounds like an oxymoron, but that's she really how she was. Without Erica to balance out the household, things would definitely have been even rougher for me. Both of the girls were subordinate to their alpha mistress though. I learned on my first day to address the three as "Mistress Stephanie," "Miss Lucy" and "Miss Erica."

Slowly I adapted, learning to anticipate the dommes' needs and gauge their moods. This was crucial, because careless behavior at the wrong time often meant sudden, harsh punishment. Slaps, kicks, punches, verbal abuse, humiliation...all were possible and all occurred at one time or another, sometimes even when I was on my best behavior. But I adapted nevertheless and became accustomed to a certain comfortable balance at Mistress Stephanie's house. Then a second momentous change in my life arrived just as quickly as the last.

I was downstairs bagging the trash when I heard footsteps and turned to see Lucy's head pop through the door.

"Mistress wants you in the living room—

now

!" she said.

Before I could answer, she was on her way out. I quickly tied the trash bag and followed her.

When I got to the living room, Mistress Stephanie was in her favorite red leather armchair and Lucy was taking a seat next to Erica on the couch. But there was another girl standing between them. I was certain that I'd never seen her before. She was perhaps five-foot-six and had shoulder-length chestnut hair. Not exactly pretty, but attractive. Strong and well-toned, but not quite athletic. I guessed she was between nineteen and twenty-one years old.

Mistress Stephanie eyed me with impatience as I joined them.

"What took you so long?" she snapped.

I started to apologize, but she held up her hand to stop me.

"Shut up, I don't even care. I called all of you in here to meet the latest member of the household. I thought it was time that the girls and I had a female submissive here to round things out. This is Bridget."

Everyone turned their eyes to Bridget, who stood stoically with her eyes cast down. I noticed that she wore a loose-fitting beige garment and wondered if Mistress Stephanie had chosen it to emphasize her status—or lack of it—among the other women.

"Let's have a look," Lucy said. She rose from the couch and walked over to examine Bridget. It reminded me of my own first day at the house, naked in the living room. Lucy had had her fun with me then as she was doing with Bridget now. She turned Bridget's face from one side to the other and ran her fingers through the girl's hair as if checking out merchandise at a market. Then she pulled up the front of Bridget's garment, exposing her bare breasts to everyone.

"Nice tits!" Lucy said. "What do you think, Erica?"

Erica merely nodded. Unlike Lucy, it wasn't her style to revel in humiliating a submissive. Lucy then turned her attention to me with a smile and glint in her eye.

"And what about you, slave? Are these the kind of nipples you'd like to suck?"

This was too much for Bridget, whose embarrassment and anger rose above her apprehension.

"I don't want him touching me," she growled.

This was the kind of thing that I'd learned early on not to do in that house. I knew Bridget was in trouble. Mistress Stephanie's eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. She stepped over to Bridget and grabbed a handful of hair, twisting it. Bridget cried out in pain, her defiance evaporating like a dew drop on a hot griddle.

"And what is it that matters here, Bridget—what

you

want or what

I

want?"

"What

you

want, Mistress," said Bridget.

"Mistress

what?"

"Mistress Stephanie."

"Correct. That is all that matters for you now, and don't forget it again."

She released Bridget's hair and returned to her armchair. Mistress Stephanie's anger would flare and subside quickly when she was in a good mood, as she was that day, luckily for Bridget.

"All right, I'm bored now," said Mistress Stephanie. "Bridget, you've met all your mistresses and the slave."

She paused for a moment, and then looked over at me. "Slave, I guess you can just call her 'Bridget.' Bridget can call you whatever she wants, since that's what the rest of us do."

Lucy and Erica laughed along with her. Bridget was stoic again, with her eyes back to the floor. And I was just relieved that no one was angry at

me

.

Mistress Stephanie dismissed us all. When I'd finished my evening chores and gone to bed, I wondered what changes Bridget would bring to the household. I may not have enjoyed my life there, but at least I woke up each day knowing what to expect more or less.

It didn't take long to find out. Bridget and I found ourselves working together in the kitchen the next day. Maybe the inevitable awkward pairing happened by chance, or maybe Mistress Stephanie had planned it. Either way, we tried to avoid each other, not knowing yet how to coexist. Silently, I scrubbed the counters and she prepared blueberry muffins.

Bridget broke the silence first. "Go in that cabinet and bring me two cookie sheets," she said, pointing to a door beside the stove.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"Cookie sheets," she repeated. "Get two for me from that cabinet."

Even though it was an easy thing to do, I hesitated. Her attitude bothered me. Sure, I took orders from the dommes every day, but Bridget wasn't one of them.

"You could say 'please,'" I said.

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I could, but why should I? You're just the slave here."

"So are you," I shot back.

"No I'm not. I submit to the mistresses. A sub is not the same as a slave."

"The only difference is that I'm male. You can't order me around."

"We'll see about that," said Bridget. "As soon as these muffins are done, I'm going to talk to Mistress Stephanie."

We both got back to work, and I'd almost forgotten the argument by that evening, when Erica summoned me to the living room.

"Mistress said it was something about Bridget," she said with a shrug.

Minutes later, the five of us were in our places from the previous night, as if that had been a dress rehearsal and this was the real scene. I noticed that a colorful blouse and skirt had replaced Bridget's beige garment. And something else was different about her that I couldn't pinpoint.

Mistress Stephanie got to the point quickly. "So Bridget, you came to me earlier with some problem involving our male slave. Tell us all what it is again."

"He won't do what I tell him to do and argues about everything," she said, pointing at me.

Mistress Stephanie turned her attention to me. "OK then, slave. What's your problem?"

I paused before answering, knowing that I had to choose my words carefully.

"I'm sorry, Mistress Stephanie, but with all respect, Bridget has only been here for one day. And besides, she's not a mistress. I think that she should

ask

me for help instead of telling me to do things."

Mistress Stephanie nodded, glancing at each of us to show that she was considering both sides of the dispute.

"This is interesting," she finally said. "I hadn't thought about where you'd each be in our little hierarchy. And you both made good points."

In truth, Bridget had made

no

points, but I wasn't about to contradict Mistress Stephanie.

Now the mistress smiled and looked over to Lucy and Erica. "This could really be fun, girls. Each one of them wants to be on top, and I know how to solve it."

She pointed one index finger at me and the other at Bridget. "Both of you get naked—now!"

I began disrobing at once, dreading whatever Mistress Stephanie had in mind. Bridget balked at the order, but not for long.

"Remember our talk last night, girl. You don't want to piss me off!" said Mistress Stephanie. Bridget apparently knew the tone of truth and started stripping too.

Once we were both naked, Mistress Stephanie relaxed and sat down again. "Here's what the deal is," she said. "The slave will get a chance to fuck Bridget. If he can manage to make it all the way through and shoot his load inside her, then he'll never have to take orders from her again. But if he can't do it, then he'll submit to

her

from now on. High stakes, huh? What do you think?"

Lucy jumped up from the couch and clapped her hands. "I love it!"

"It sounds fair," said Erica.

"No!" Bridget protested.

Mistress Stephanie glared at her. "I wasn't asking you, Bridget. You don't get a vote."

Bridget clearly wanted a way out of this, but realized that worse things were in store if she defied Mistress Stephanie. I knew better than to even bother complaining.

Seeing an opportunity, Lucy took charge. "Damn this is gonna be fun. Down on all fours, Bridget. Get your head down low and your knees far apart."

"Erica, go get some grape seed oil. We need to lube her up." said Mistress Stephanie.

Erica trotted out and returned moments later with a half-full bottle of clear liquid.

I was queasy with anxiety, but couldn't help noticing Bridget, now naked on the floor in doggy position. As tough as this was for us both, she was a lovely sight. Soft brown hair hanging beside pendulous breasts...the curve of her hips...smooth, shapely ass stuck high in the air...lightly-fringed slit with prominent pink lips.

Yet still I wasn't erect. The situation was so clinical, and it had been so long since-

"Lucy, Erica...he's going to need some help," said Mistress Stephanie.

The next thing I knew, her two apprentices had their hands between my legs, which was a shock because neither had ever touched me "that way" before. Their fingers caressed my penis lightly from shaft to head, sometimes drifting back to stroke my inner thighs and scrotum. What surprised me most was that vicious Lucy's touch was even softer and more facile than Erica's. It didn't take long for my erection to build, swell, and throb. Once I was at full mast, the girls knew that I was ready for Bridget and stepped away.

Erica picked up the bottle of grape seed oil, poured a small amount in her hand, and applied it to Bridget's vagina. When the task was done, she unexpectedly whispered in my ear.

"Just concentrate on what you need to do. When you're inside her, forget everything else."

She gave me an encouraging pat on the shoulder and nudged me toward Bridget. This was the paradox of Erica. She could be as mean as Lucy or the mistress, but sometimes acted nothing like a domme at all.

I placed my hands on Bridget's hips, feeling awkward as hell with three women watching, I had hoped to enter her without using my hands, but it just wasn't going to happen. So I reached down and took my erection in my right hand, trying to place it directly in the vaginal opening. Even this went badly. I poked around and fumbled without penetration.

"Do you need a map?" Bridget hissed through gritted teeth.

I felt my face flush and tried to ignore the chorus of muffled giggles that followed. I tried once more and

finally

my hard cock slid inside Bridget's hot, tight hole, sending a wave of relief and pleasure coursing through my body.

But it was not the time to indulge in pleasure, because neither Bridget nor I had asked for this. It was an assignment set to us—a competition really, though a ludicrous one. After all, I was thrusting my own sexual organ repeatedly into that of my opponent, trying to climax as quickly as possible. I couldn't allow myself to think about the three dommes watching or even regard Bridget as a person. I just hoped above all else that it wouldn't last much longer. And then finally I found myself approaching the peak of that mountain slope, anticipating the moment I would explode inside Bridget and fill her with my semen, once and for all putting an end to this infernal test and securing my place in the household.

I began to lose all sense of myself, grabbing Bridget around the waist so I could thrust even deeper. The muscles in my back tensed, my prostate throbbed, and I started to moan. It would only take a few more thrusts. It would all be over. And I would be the winner.

But the finish line vanished like a mirage when I heard Lucy's voice.

"Oh no, he's going limp! He's getting soft! His hard-on is gone! His dick is

dying

!"

Recalling Erica's advice to ignore distractions, I tried to fight off the panic that seized me. What Lucy said wasn't true. I was still plenty hard and ready to climax. I was almost there. But then just as quickly, I wasn't "there" at all. My penis was quickly collapsing for real, and I knew it wouldn't rise again that night. Tears of frustration and anger welled in my eyes. I had been so close. Had Lucy planned this from the start? Did Mistress Stephanie order it?

My defeated organ shriveled and popped back out of Bridget's vagina almost comically. She glanced over her shoulder at me with a smirk, and I hated her for it. She had won. Even if it was a cheating win with Lucy's help, it was a win nevertheless. Once my body was off her, Bridget rose to her feet while I still knelt fittingly below her.

"May I get dressed again, Mistress?" she asked.

"Yes, Bridget. Both of you may," said Mistress Stephanie. "We're all done for the night. Now we know where things stand with Bridget and the slave...and where they

don't

."

Her remark and the female giggles that followed it stung like iodine on a fresh wound. I dressed without meeting anyone's eyes and hurried off to my room, where I switched off the light and dropped into bed. There in the dark, the tears could flow unseen.

Bridget made no attempt to hide her glee the next day. She flaunted her newly sanctioned power, issuing orders to me whenever possible. And needless to say, there wasn't a single "please." Each time we passed each other, she made a point of making eye contact and grinning. Both of us knew what those smiles were all about. Every one was like a punch in the gut—or a bit lower.

Things reached a tipping point when we were working together in the kitchen that afternoon. Bridget was boiling noodles and she took a single one from the pot to test.

"Hey slave!" she called.

I turned to look, and she dangled the long noodle from her fingers.

"I think they're done! See how it's all soft and limp?" She smiled broadly and winked at me.

When I scowled, she laughed. I turned back to my garlic-chopping and heard myself mutter a single word.

"Bitch."

I'm sure that I meant to only think it, but the word came out of my mouth and Bridget heard it. The smile faded and her brow knit.

"What did you call me?" she asked.

Was it better to pretend I'd never said the word or to repeat it? I didn't have much time to consider this, because Bridget walked over to me and asked again. I knew it would have been better for my sake to apologize, but there was something inside me that prevented this. I believe it was the last vestige of my pride.

I looked back at Bridget defiantly. "I said, 'bitch.'"

Our eyes locked. Neither of us were thinking of boiled noodles or chopped garlic now.

"I know how things work around here, and you have no idea how sorry you're going to be. I'm going to have a little talk with Mistress," said Bridget.

She yanked off her apron and stalked out the kitchen door. I switched off the heat on the noodles.

The inevitable third house meeting of the week wasn't long in coming. Back in the living room, Mistress Stephanie sat brushing her long blond hair. Lucy and Erica fidgeted, both looking like they'd rather be doing anything else. Bridget just stood and glowered with me opposite her, waiting for the fallout from the afternoon spat in the kitchen.

Finally Mistress Stephanie stood and we knew the meeting had begun. She put one hand on my shoulder and the other on Bridget's.

"It seems you are still giving Bridget problems, slave, after we settled things last night. Bridget, repeat what you told me this afternoon."

Bridget's narrowed eyes were fixed on me as she spoke. "We were both working in the kitchen and I just asked him a question about the food. First he called me a fucking bitch and then he twisted my arm."

"What?" I said. "That's not true, I never touched-"

Mistress Stephanie's palm cracked across my cheek before I could finish, sending a burst of colorful stars through my vision.

"I gave Bridget permission to speak, not you. Now it is your turn—did you call Bridget a fucking bitch?"

I paused, wondering if the mistress would appreciate the distinction between "bitch" and "fucking bitch." I decided that she wouldn't.

"Yes, Mistress Stephanie."

"And did you twist her arm?"

"No! That never happened! She's just-"

A second stinging slap from Mistress Stephanie landed on the same cheek.

"I hope you're not saying that Bridget is lying, because I know that's not the case," she said. "In this house, your word is worth less than any female's—even if she's a sub. That means Bridget is telling the truth and

you

are lying. So I'll give you another chance to admit it. Did you twist her arm?"

I sighed quietly. The situation was solidly "lose-lose." Mistress Stephanie's eyes were daring me to deny Bridget's claim again. No matter my response, punishment of some sort was on its way.

"Yes, Mistress Stephanie," I lied.

"Goddamn, you really don't from your mistakes," she said, shaking her head. "Raising your hand against a female in my house? If I had seen it, you wouldn't be functioning right now. But I'll tell you what—we'll call this your "strike two" with Bridget,

if

she's willing to let it go. You are going to look in her eyes now and beg her to forgive you. Whether she does it or not is up to her."

When I turned to face Bridget, she raised her chin, put her hands on her hips, and waited. The prospect of doing this on the basis of her falsehood sickened me, but I knew that I had little choice.

"Will you forgive me, Bridget?" I asked.

She swung hard and walloped me across the face with her open palm. It was a heavy blow, but at least Bridget was left-handed and didn't hit the same cheek Mistress Stephanie had just punished.

"No, I don't," she said. "Try harder."

I heard Lucy snicker behind me. Why couldn't this just end quickly?

"Do it again," Mistress Stephanie prompted. "Better luck this time."

I took a deep breath and looked into Bridget's eyes again.

"Will you

please

forgive me, Bridget?"

She gazed back at me for a long moment that felt like forever. I began bracing myself when her hand started to rise again, but she noticed my reaction and dropped it back to her side. The severe expression on her face softened.