Their Master's Pleasure (14 page)

I wasn't too tempted, to be frank. Given the choice between lying alone in the dark, thinking, and squeezing a nice pair of bubbies, I know what gets my vote. Still, each to his or her own, I always say; and undoubtedly my ward's nocturnal efforts had saved me a job.

‘Ursula, you're a marvel. Do you have a name for it yet?'

‘I'm calling it Retribution. I can describe it now, if you wish, though I'd rather keep it a surprise.'

‘Oh, indeed,' I said, ‘I like surprises. Just promise me it needs no unusual equipment or paraphernalia - no quart jugs of semen, or anything of that nature.'

‘No, sir; a few mundane items only, easily obtained.'

‘Excellent,' I said. ‘I'll leave everything in your capable hands, in that case.'

I was keen to be off, to tell the truth, for if I took my constitutional now I should be back in time to catch Belinda before she finished breakfast. I was most anxious to come to an agreement with her regarding tonight - specifically that she should spend it with me. Once that was settled I could relax and enjoy the rest of the day. In addition to the spanking I had promised Queenie, Nigel had asked for my help with a maid who was two-thirds of the way through the training manual. Time permitting, I also had a fancy to tickle Elizabeth and Belinda's bottoms, together if I could contrive it. Nothing too serious, you understand, just a quick two or three dozen apiece, to keep the pair of them on their toes.

 

I missed Belinda at breakfast, for a fallen tree had blocked the lane and my constitutional involved a lengthy detour. By the time I got back everyone had gone their separate ways and our hostess was nowhere in sight. I searched but all in vain and in the end I was obliged to ask the butler if he knew her whereabouts. I was informed that her ladyship had gone out riding with Mr Porton-Jones, which was the
last
thing I wanted to hear. Humphrey knew how much I wanted Belinda; I wouldn't put it past him to claim her first out of devilment - bedding the same woman on successive nights wasn't against the rules, after all. I was not in the best of tempers therefore as I headed up to my room, thinking to change into riding gear and go out after them. Before I reached it, however, I happened upon a scene that set me on a different track altogether.

‘This is totally unacceptable!' Queenie was saying. ‘Disgraceful! You will polish them again and this time you will do it properly.' She was standing outside the door to Humphrey's room lecturing a subdued-looking hall-boy who was holding a pair of men's shoes. ‘I want to see you back here in five minutes, and if I'm still not satisfied I shall ask your master to punish you most severely. Off you go, now!'

The hall-boy hurried away with the offending footwear clutched under his arm. As he disappeared from sight I came up behind Queenie and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned quickly, her expression of annoyance giving way to one of startlement, then embarrassment.

‘Mr Montague,' she said, ‘I'm sorry, sir - I didn't see you standing there.'

‘So I gathered. Kindly step this way, Mrs Bryce.'

I opened Humphrey's door and went inside, feeling certain he wouldn't object to my borrowing his room. After all, he was kind enough to let me borrow his housekeeper whenever I wished - for whatever lewd or nefarious purpose I had in mind.

‘Mrs Bryce,' I said, closing the door behind us, ‘I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the hall-boy. I would remind you that you are but a guest in this house and should comport yourself accordingly. Admonishing staff should be reserved for Beckton Measby, where you have the authority. Here, madam, you do not.'

Queenie took the reprimand in silence, standing meekly before me, hands clasped in front of her and gaze fixed firmly on the floor. There was no question she would challenge my authority to censure her, of course. Though but a guest myself, there was one vital difference between us - I had a standing invitation from her master to thrash her any time I wished.

‘You will now strip naked,' I said. ‘I feel I should reinforce the lesson in the usual manner lest it be all too quickly forgotten.'

She undressed without delay, laying her discarded clothes upon the bed. When she was naked she turned to me, a flush on her cheeks and a look of anticipation mixed with apprehension in her eyes. Though Queenie enjoyed being beaten more than any woman I had ever known, there came a point when it was no longer pleasurable, even for her. Last night I had promised her a spanking, but we both understood that was purely for fun. This, however, was to be a true punishment beating, as my use of the formal ‘Mrs Bryce' made plain - and that was a very different kettle of fish. Having no idea how severe the chastisement would be, she was naturally somewhat nervous.

‘I want you facing the door,' I said, ‘in the standing-T position.'

Queenie complied instantly, standing up straight, legs together, head erect, arms held out to each side level with her shoulders. At that precise moment someone coughed discreetly in the hallway outside and there came a gentle tapping at the door.

‘I expect that's the hall-boy,' I said, ‘back with the shoes.'

A look of panic swept across Queenie's face and her arms whipped down to cover breast and groin. She turned her head this way and that, desperately seeking a convenient wrap to hide her nakedness.

‘Resume the stance, madam!' I snapped. ‘What... do you dare move without permission?'

She jerked back into position. I stared at her coldly for a second longer, then called out, ‘Enter!'

The door opened and sure enough it was the hall-boy, shoes in hand. ‘Beg pardon,' he mumbled, ‘I've brought...' His voice tailed off as he caught sight of Queenie and he froze in the doorway, open-mouthed. Though I waited patiently, it seemed unlikely he would finish the sentence any time soon.

‘Mr Porton-Jones' shoes, yes,' I said, doing the job for him. ‘I believe this lady expressed a wish to inspect them?'

‘Er... yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

He came fully into the room and offered the shoes to me, his glance flicking aside to the naked woman standing mere feet away, lower lip quivering and cheeks crimson with shame. Though no member of this household could fail to be aware that female guests were sometimes beaten, it was unlikely the lad had ever witnessed such a thing, given Belinda's insistence on privacy. Little wonder he was so taken aback.

‘Well what are you waiting for?' I said. ‘Show them to her.'

That surprised him too, but he stepped forward pluckily - if a little jerkily - to stand eye to eye with his former nemesis. ‘Madam?' he said, his gaze dropping to her breasts as he held out the shoes for inspection.

‘They... they look satisfactory,' Queenie stammered. ‘Thank you.'

‘Oh, come now, Mrs Bryce,' I said, ‘surely you wish to make a more thorough examination than that? Hold them, I pray - observe their glossy sheen. We need to be confident they meet the exacting standards Mr Porton-Jones so rightly insists upon.'

She lowered her arms and took possession of the items in question, pretending to examine them. As for the hall-boy, he examined Queenie, though he tried hard not to be too blatant about it and maintained a wary eye in my direction all the while. I winked at him - no more than a brief flicker of my left eyelid, but he caught on immediately. He had no lack of wits, this youngster, and recognised the signal for what it was. He ogled Queenie quite openly now, running his eyes up and down her pale form.

‘Yes,' she said faintly, ‘quite satisfactory.'

‘Good,' I said. ‘Perhaps, young man, you would place them there beside the gentleman's luggage.'

‘Certainly, sir,' he said.

I gave Queenie a long look and she took my meaning at once, for after handing over the shoes her arms immediately rose to the horizontal position. She stared straight ahead through the open door, appearing greatly relieved that her ordeal was almost over. It was clear to see she could cope with pain far better than she could cope with an audience, especially an audience of her inferiors.

‘Tell me, lad,' I said, as the hall-boy was about to depart, ‘have you polished my shoes this morning?'

‘Yes sir - though I haven't fetched them up yet.'

‘Bring them to me now, there's a good fellow,' I said genially. ‘I may as well check my own while we're at it. No... leave the door open. That way you can come straight on in.'

‘Yes, sir,' he said, fighting hard to keep a straight face. ‘Thank you, sir.'

While he was gone I went over to Humphrey's luggage and took a cane from his carry-case. I felt a little guilty about this, I confess, for it is one thing to borrow a fellow's housekeeper or his bedroom, but implements of correction are a different matter altogether. Many spankers hold such objects more dear than their own offspring - I certainly wouldn't want anyone touching any of mine without first asking permission. These were unusual circumstances, however. To return to my room for a weapon of my own was out of the question, as a hiatus at this point could all too easily shatter the mood and ruin everything.

Armed with the purloined cane I approached my victim, who seemed considerably more anxious than usual. I attributed this to the unnerving effect of being obliged to display her charms to a hall-boy - precisely why I had invited him in, of course - together with the knowledge that his return was imminent.

‘A century, Mrs Bryce,' I said. ‘One hundred strokes.'

‘Yes, sir,' she murmured.

‘You will not move until I give you permission, madam, is that clear?'

‘Quite clear, sir.'

‘Very well, then. Let us begin.'

 

 

 

I needed to unsettle Queenie as quickly as possible (I had my reasons for this) and so I abandoned the venerable and highly respected principle of ‘escalation' and laid on with a vengeance. That first stroke was a cruel one indeed and anyone else would have leapt a foot in the air and let out a shriek fit to wake the dead - but not Queenie Bryce. Though she could not have anticipated so hard a stroke this early in her punishment, she took it with no more than a gasp and a coital thrust of her hips as her buttocks instinctively drew away from the pain. Admirable and brave though this was it hindered my purpose, and so I made the next few strokes harder still. Her gasps became grunts and her flinching more pronounced. Satisfied, I settled into a steady rhythm, the fierce cuts just a few seconds apart.

With Queenie facing the door, she was aware of the hall-boy's return the second he peered into the room. I pretended not to notice, however, and continued with the beating. Back at Bleekston Hall I told Freddie that those in authority must never be humiliated in front of their subordinates, but this situation was entirely different. It was precisely because Queenie
had
no authority here that she was being punished. True, it wasn't necessary to humble her in this way - the beating alone was surely punishment enough - but I found it amusing and entertaining to do so. That's why I ‘laid on with a vengeance' right from the start: I wanted the hall-boy to see her in a state of distress, for that would greatly increase her embarrassment.

Queenie said nothing for a full minute following the lad's reappearance, which was longer than I expected. Then the humiliation became simply too great for her to bear, overcoming even her fear of breaking one of the cardinal rules of punishment - not to speak without permission.

‘Sir...' she groaned. ‘Sir, the hall-boy... ahh!'

‘What's that, Mrs Bryce?' I said, striking more firmly still, with never a missed beat.

‘The hall-boy, sir, he's... aahhh!'

‘Which tall boy, Mrs Bryce?'
Thwack
! ‘I don't recall any such person.'
Thwack
!

Locked in position as she was by my specific instruction not to move, she had no alternative but to try to get through to me while taking the blows.

‘No sir,
hall
-boy... aahhh! Sir, he's brought your shoes... aaahhhh! The
hall
-boy, Mr Montague... aaahhhh!'

Enjoyable though this was - and not just for me, for I kept sneaking a glance at the lad in question and even risked another wink - there is a limit to how long one can sustain this sort of thing. Like telling a joke, the skill is in the timing. At the appropriate moment, therefore, I stopped. ‘Ah, the young man with my shoes,' I said. ‘I didn't see you standing there. Did you happen to notice him, Mrs Bryce?'

‘Yes sir,' she gasped. ‘I've been trying...'

‘You did?' I interjected. ‘Why on earth didn't you say something?'

This was a convenient time to pause in any case. One hundred strokes sounds a fearful amount, but at the rate I was dispensing them it would all be over in ten minutes or less, and that wouldn't do at all. I put down the cane therefore and retrieved my shoes from my young accomplice, who was now grinning openly. I took my time examining them, knowing the boy was taking full advantage of the lull. Queenie was still in her standing-T pose and I knew her shoulders would be aching by now. I doubted she was even aware of it, however, for the pain would be swamped by the fire in her buttocks. With the lad in the room I thought she might be reluctant to seek permission to rub, so perhaps a little prompting was needed.