Their Master's Pleasure

 

THEIR MASTER'S PLEASURE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By

B. A. Bradbury

 

 

 

Their Master's Pleasure first published in 2011 by

Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2011 by Chimera Books Ltd

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

 

Digital Edition Converted and Published by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

 

New authors
are always welcome, or if you're already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to
hear from you
.

 

This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex

 

This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

 

Copyright B. A. Bradbury. The right of B. A. Bradbury to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

 

 

‘Uncle James,' Victoria said, ‘is it wicked to wish to punish someone?'

My ward and I were strolling in the grounds of Bleekston Hall, our Oxfordshire home, enjoying the August sunshine. The weather had been glorious for the past four weeks, as if this summer of 1892 wished to make amends for a damp and unseasonably cool start. It was not Victoria's habit to accompany me on my daily constitutional, but that particular morning she had asked to do so. I judged from her manner that she had something of consequence to impart, so we left her two sisters in the care of Irene Hammond, their governess, and set off along the path to the lake.

‘Wicked?' I said. ‘No, not necessarily. It all depends on one's motives for wanting to punish them, I suppose,'

Victoria sighed. ‘I suspect my motives are not of the highest, so probably I
am
wicked. Perhaps I should be punished too, as well as Rose.'

It was hard not to smile. Victoria never missed an opportunity to be chastised, though I had long known it was no stinging posterior she craved, rather the subsequent physical ‘consolation'.

‘And what has Rose done to earn your displeasure?' I enquired.

‘She was very rude to me yesterday morning. I wasn't happy with the way she had done my hair, so I told her to do it again. She refused, claiming she had other duties that were more important. It wasn't so much what she said, uncle, as the way she said it. She was perfectly horrid.'

I should perhaps explain that, though she called me ‘uncle', we were not closely related. Her late father Bertram was a distant cousin of mine who, along with his wife, had tragically drowned in a boating accident some ten months previously. Since Bertie had named me his heir, I was transformed overnight from a gentleman of modest means to the second richest in the county and from confirmed bachelor to guardian of their three daughters. I encouraged Elizabeth, Victoria and Catherine to call me ‘uncle' from the start as it suggested a degree of intimacy - and intimacy with lovely, nubile young women was a thing I was ever keen to foster.

To hear that Rose had been uncivil came as no surprise: God knows she had been disrespectful to me more times than I cared to remember. Though insolence in a servant would not normally be tolerated, I had no intention of dismissing her, for she had hidden qualities that more than compensated for her shortcomings.

‘A most heinous crime indeed,' I said to Victoria, keeping a straight face. ‘Do you wish me to punish her for it?'

I was almost certain my ward had something else in mind, in fact, and her next words confirmed my suspicions. ‘Not exactly, uncle.' She glanced up at me guiltily. ‘I want... that is, I would really like... to administer the punishment myself.'

This new development was not entirely unexpected, I have to say. It is not uncommon for a punishee to wish to ‘change sides', as it were, and deliver a beating rather than be perpetually on the receiving end. From the very start Victoria had been more amenable to the idea of corporal punishment than her older sister Elizabeth and
far
more so than Cathy, youngest of the three.

‘Very well,' I said. ‘Since the offence was committed against you personally, I see no reason why you shouldn't hand out the retribution. I'm sure you understand, however, that I must be there to supervise the punishment. The choice of implement will be mine and I shall determine the number of strokes. You see why this must be so, my dear?'

‘Of course, Uncle James,' she said. ‘I have little experience in these matters, I realise that. It will be a great comfort to know you are keeping a watchful eye on me.'

I nodded, remembering how reassuring my grandfather's presence was to me the first time I caned Nell in his study, all those long years ago. With that wonderful old man there to guide and encourage me, doubt and anxiety simply melted away.

 

My heart was pounding as I raised the cane. I swished it through the air three or four times, the low, menacing hiss sending a tingle down my spine.

‘Keep your wrist loose, Jamie,' my grandfather said. ‘A supple wrist is the key to good control, remember.'

I nodded, concentrating hard, wanting to please him. My grandfather's approval was the most important thing in the world to me and I was mindful of his instructions - thumb uppermost, grip firm but not too tight, wrist loose.

‘Eye on the target, Jamie-boy,' he said. ‘Are you watching the target?'

‘Yes, sir.' The target in question was a pair of round, creamy-white buttocks belonging to Nell, one of my grandfather's maids, who was presently touching her toes - with skirts drawn up to her waist and drawers down to her ankles - in the middle of his study.

‘In your own time, then. Let's make it a nice crisp one, eh?'

I nodded again, swished the cane once more for luck and drew back my arm. A heartbeat's pause, then the cane swept forward, seemingly of its own volition. It struck with a solid
thwick
, and Nell jerked and let out a yelp, quickly suppressed. As she knew only too well, my grandfather disapproved of ‘squawking', as he called it, and invariably rewarded the culprit with extra strokes.

‘Keep ‘em coming, my boy. We promised her a dozen, didn't we?'

I was more than happy to comply, laying on stroke after stroke with a vengeance. Nell gasped and flinched in a most entrancing fashion as fresh pink stripes bloomed on her white skin.

All too soon, sadly, it was over. My grandfather approached and together we examined the girl's buttocks. He ran a fingernail along the wheals - causing poor Nell to gasp and flinch all over again - and complimented me on the even spacing. To be honest, this was due more to luck than any skill of mine, for I had forgotten all about that in the heat of battle. With a final pat on her sore bottom, my grandfather told Nell she could go. She hurriedly rearranged her clothing and shot from the room, eager, no doubt, to return to the relative safety of the servants' hall.

‘That was well done, lad,' my grandfather declared. ‘Very well done indeed! You're a natural born spanker if ever I saw one.'

My chest swelled with pride as I handed the cane back to him. ‘Will I be as good as you, sir, when I grow up?'

The old man nodded gravely. ‘Perhaps, if you apply yourself diligently to your studies. Maybe even better. All you need is practice, Jamie - lots and lots of practice.'

That sounded very agreeable to me, I have to say. I was more than willing to practice every hour of every day, if necessary. I was already beginning to regret that Nell had been dismissed so quickly for I had a fancy to start practising right then and there.

The thought may have shown in my face, or perhaps it was simply that my grandfather and I were so perfectly attuned at that moment. Whatever the reason, he chuckled and patted my shoulder. ‘Fancy a hunt, my boy?'

‘A hunt, grandfather?' I said with a frown, thinking instantly of foxes and foxhounds.

‘That's right,' he said, steering me towards the door. ‘Let's see if we can't flush out a maid or two. We'll take the cane so they know we mean business. Got to give ‘em a sporting chance, y'see?'

‘Yes, sir,' I said, though in point of fact I didn't. Sneaking up on them unawares seemed to me the better plan.

‘Here we go, then,' he cried. ‘Tally-ho!'

 

Victoria and I reached the lake and stopped for a moment to look out over its broad, serene expanse. The resident pair of swans made their way gracefully yet purposefully towards us, no doubt hoping for some titbits of bread.

‘That's settled then,' I said. ‘I shall send for Rose the instant we get back to the house. It's best to deal with servants quickly, I find, otherwise they tend to sulk and neglect their duties.'

With my three wards I adopted a different approach: irrespective of when an offence was committed, punishments always took place in my study on Friday evenings. Delaying punishment in this way allows the victim ample time to reflect upon her transgressions and contemplate the pain and humiliation to come. The fact that it heightened my own pleasure of anticipation was purely a bonus.

‘I should have spoken up sooner, I know,' Victoria said. ‘It's just that... I suspected my motives were base and unworthy...' Her voice faltered and died. The source of her confusion wasn't hard to divine, of course. The idea of punishing someone was arousing strange new feelings in her, feelings she instinctively felt were pernicious and wrong.

‘Am I to understand,' I said sternly, ‘that the thought of caning Rose is pleasurable to you?'

She nodded miserably and admitted that it was, whereupon I scowled and tutted disapprovingly. At times like these I find it helpful to adopt the style and mannerisms of our local vicar, the good Reverend Wilkins.

‘Wretched girl,' I rumbled, in that gentleman's best pulpit tones, ‘it is certainly base and unworthy to delight in another person's suffering. Do you think I enjoy punishing you and your sisters, or the maids, the cook and Mrs Hammond? Do you imagine I relish watching young women writhe and squirm... seeing their posteriors turn first pink, then red, then purple... hearing their gasps of dismay turn to shrill cries of anguish?'

‘No, uncle.'

‘No indeed. It is positively painful to me, as it should be to you also. I am most shocked that you feel otherwise, Victoria. Naturally there is but one recourse - can you guess what it is?'

‘Yes, uncle,' she whispered.

‘You already have a punishment scheduled for this coming Friday, do you not?'

‘Yes, uncle; for spilling my bedtime milk on Sunday night.'

‘Very well,' I said. ‘In that case we will not wait. I shall deal with this further offence here and now.'

As we were some considerable distance from the house my extensive collection of canes, crops, paddles, whips, straps, tawses, lashes and so forth was temporarily unavailable to me. I could have used my hand, of course, but I had a fancy for something a little more lively than an over-the-knee spanking, so I strode to a nearby holly bush and cut a thin stick with my penknife. A few quick slashes saw it stripped of leaves, after which I swished it experimentally. Though none too straight and hardly the most elegant of implements, I harboured no doubts as to its effectiveness.

Satisfied, I went back to Victoria, who had watched the preparations with round, anxious eyes. ‘Remove your clothes,' I said.

‘Oh, Uncle James,' she murmured, looking around nervously as though fearing we were being spied upon. ‘Allow me to retain something, I beg, for decency's sake.'

‘Very well,' I said, never one to refuse a reasonable request. ‘You may keep your bonnet on.'

There were further mild protestations but I knew she was simply going through the motions. Unlike her sisters, Victoria had never shown much reluctance to strip; rather the opposite, in fact, if she thought sexual gratification was on the cards. She undressed now in haste, though not without frequent furtive glances at the shrubbery, as though she expected some gypsy rover to poke his head out and leer at her - or perhaps Phillips, our ancient gardener, was a more likely interloper. Nothing of that nature transpired, however, and soon she was naked except for her bonnet.

Victoria, nude, was pink, plump and utterly delectable. Her breasts were full and round, tipped with pale, swollen nipples. A pouting slit and fluffy ginger bush showed beneath her prominent little belly. Her generous, well-padded bottom was simply begging to be whacked.

‘Come,' I said, leading her to the boathouse. It wasn't that I desired privacy - as far as I was concerned, any wandering fellow was more than welcome to observe Victoria's humiliation so long as he refrained from poaching my pheasants - rather that I had something special in mind once the punishment was over.

The boathouse was a low-roofed timber building housing a steam launch and rowing boat. The launch hadn't run in years, but Mrs Hammond and my wards occasionally took the smaller craft out on the lake, weather permitting, as part of the girls' instruction in botany and zoology.

At my command, Victoria stood close to the edge of the dock, then reached up to take hold of the wooden roof beam above her head. I moved into position alongside her, raised the holly wand and tapped her round buttocks lightly to get my aim. ‘Count the strokes, if you please.'

She closed her eyes. I drew back the stick and delivered a lively stroke to her pale rump. She gave a little gasp, her hips jerking forward, and raised up onto her tiptoes. ‘One, Uncle James.'

I waited for a few seconds, then repeated the stroke exactly. Again she flinched and again a breathless sob escaped her lips. ‘Two, Uncle James.'

I had asked her to count off the strokes in this fashion for one reason and one reason only. It was not, as some casual observer might conclude, that I thought myself likely to lose track of where we were, rather that I wished to know how much this was hurting her. The penitent's increasing distress as the punishment proceeds can be heard clearly in her voice and the severity of the strokes adjusted accordingly.