This is a very short chapter, but it did not fit with the previous chapter nor with the next. This is a transition chapter and does not contain a lot of sex. This story stands on its own, but makes a little more sense if you have read the previous chapters.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2018 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Around the middle of July things started to get weird at Pond Cove. You may be wondering what I consider weird since I have been telling how I and three other submissives have been running around naked obeying our Mistresses all summer, but this is different. Something weird was happening with the Mistresses.

It has to do with power… or authority… or assertiveness or something. Before this summer, I didn’t know I was a submissive. And over the weeks, I’ve figured out that I am less assertive– or maybe I should say more submissive– than holly or puddy tat or cheryl… especially cheryl. She scares me sometimes. There are times that her dark eyes look like they are boring right through me. It’s pretty obvious that she is the head slave– or whatever– when the Mistresses aren’t around. Then it is puddy tat and then holly and then me. I knew right away that there was a definite pecking order to us slaves. But I hadn’t realized that Masters and Mistresses also had an order of authority or power.

I realized pretty fast that Mistress Sam seemed to be physically the most powerful of the three Mistresses. One look at her bulging muscles told me that. She could probably hold her own against most men in a knock-down, drag-out fight. But despite that, Mistress Gloria somehow usually gets her way. She will say things in that certain way and what she said is what always gets done. Once Mistress Tracy suggested something really stupid and Mistress Gloria just looked at her hard like a momma looking at a misbehaving child. She didn’t say anything, but Mistress Tracy suddenly stepped back and apologized.

“I’m sorry, Mistress Gloria,” she said in almost a quaking voice, “that was totally stupid of me. Please forgive me.”

For a minute I thought that she was going to drop to her knees, but Mistress Gloria just shook her head slightly and said, “Forget about it, Tracy.” Then she added a little more firmly, “Just don’t let it happen again.”

That was in mid-June. It wasn’t anything really major, but from that point on, it seemed like there was friction between the three Mistresses. Maybe there was before and I hadn’t noticed it, but something was wrong. Nothing specific was said, but it was there under everything. I think Master Jeremy and slave kristi coming into the cove for the Fourth of July aggravated things. Mistress Tracy seemed really bitchy for several days after Master Jeremy left. Then about two weeks later, the three Mistresses got into a really loud argument at breakfast.

I don’t know what the original argument was all about. We couldn’t hear that over in the kitchen. But it got really loud when things exploded. “I think we need to clarify who is in charge here,” Mistress Tracy said, slamming her fork down on her plate. “You two treat me like I’m one of your slaves,” she almost screamed. Then she stood up next to the table, put her fists on her hips and said, “I demand a reckoning.”

“What do you suggest,” Mistress Gloria said calmly, “dueling pistols at forty paces?”

She was smiling, but no one laughed at her suggestion. We slaves sort of crouched down and hid in the kitchen waiting to see what would happen.

“I am willing to acknowledge Mistress Gloria as our leader,” Mistress Sam said calmly.

“I’m not!” Mistress Tracy yelled, stomping her foot for emphasis.

Slave cheryl stepped out of the kitchen slightly and bowed her head. Slave cheryl had changed a lot since the Fourth of July also. Actually she had changed a lot since she lost our little contest and all of her body hair. She was… different. She was still acting very submissive to Mistress Sam, but the way she carried her body and the way she walked and talked was just… different. Maybe it was because when the hair on her head began to grow back in it was in tight curls. I hadn’t thought anything about it, but she was a black woman with very straight hair. Evidently the tight curls were what her hair should naturally be. There was now just enough hair on her head to make a tight skull cap of curly black hair.

“May I speak?” she asked softly.

“Why not?” Mistress Sam said. Mistress Gloria nodded her head. Mistress Tracy just stood there glaring with her hands on her hips.

“If you are seeking a physical challenge,” cheryl said, “you have already tested a course with us. The target portion could remain the same, but perhaps you would want to swim or run farther because you are better than us humble slaves.” She bowed slightly and then added, “You can add other things to the course, but it would be a proven way to test your physical strengths.”

“Great suggestion,” Mistress Sam said. Then turning to Mistress Tracy she asked, “What do you think?”

“I think I would stomp both your asses,” Mistress Tracy said angrily.

“Ahh,” said Mistress Gloria, “but like before, there is the matter of incentive.”

“The slaves raced for their hair,” said Mistress Tracy.