Their Master's Pleasure (15 page)

‘I've never quite understood,' I mused aloud, ‘why punishees rub their burning bottoms. It seems to me a curious thing to do.' I abandoned the shoe inspection and turned to my victim, still fighting valiantly to preserve a modicum of dignity in a patently impossible situation. ‘It must offer considerable relief, as they all seem to want to do it. But why should it? What mechanism is at work here?'

Queenie Bryce made no comment, though I could see she was longing to speak.

‘Do
you
wish to rub?' I asked.

She licked her lips. A battle was being waged inside her between expediency and pride, but it was short-lived. Expediency triumphed, as it so often does. ‘Yes, sir,' she whispered, ‘if you please, sir.'

‘Very well...' I said.

She gave a thankful groan, her arms dropping down and her hands moving quickly to her buttocks.

‘But first turn around and touch your toes. I wish to observe how much damage has been done.'

She didn't move, but simply stared at me. In all the years I had known her Queenie had never once hesitated when given a direct order. That she did so now was a measure of the confusion and dismay the hall-boy's presence engendered.

‘Now!' I said, putting bite into the word.

Though the look she gave me was not a happy one, she complied. Her buttocks, I saw, were banded with wheals that resembled purple ropes, running somewhat at an angle from top left to bottom right. And that wasn't all I saw, for her slit came clearly into view, nestling in its thick tuft of dark hair. The hall-boy gave a gasp of sheer delight. We savoured the sight together, he and I, for a full minute before finally I took pity on her.

‘Very well, Mrs Bryce, you may stand up and rub.'

While she was so engaged I turned to the lad. He had been a good sport and a most useful ally, but I could keep him from his duties no longer. I patted his shoulder, gave him a shilling and told him to put my shoes in my room.

‘Yes, sir,' he said. ‘Thank you kindly, sir.'

He went out. Significantly, I thought, he left the door open - a bright lad indeed. I turned my attentions once more to Humphrey's housekeeper, still rubbing her ravaged posterior. ‘Face the door, Mrs Bryce. Flying-T position.'

‘Yes, sir.'

She took up the standing-T, then bent forward at the hips so that her torso was almost horizontal. With her arms out to the sides in this way and her neck stretched forward, she reminded me somewhat of a duck coming in for a fast landing.

The beating got underway once more, though at a considerably slower pace. My strike rate fell to just four a minute, so that each stroke became an event in its own right. Though I concentrated on my victim now, especially the effect the cane was having on her poor bottom, I couldn't help but be aware of significantly increased traffic past the door. I think every male servant in the place - and one or two females into the bargain - found occasion to pass along that particular hallway in the next fifteen minutes, lingering in the doorway in the process. Indeed, some of them made the trip three or four times.

Queenie's mortification at having an audience, initially intense, gradually diminished as the minutes ticked by. She was entering a place of her own, slipping into that trancelike state some punishees can attain, yet of which others have no conception. Pain had become her whole world and she gave herself to it willingly. At that point a battalion of infantry could have marched past without her knowledge.

The punishment drew to a close. I delivered the one hundredth stroke - I had maintained the count scrupulously in my head, hall-boys, shoes and other distractions notwithstanding - then told her to rise. So deeply submerged was she I had to touch her shoulder to make her aware of me. She straightened, looking at me almost in bewilderment, her eyes glazed and misted with pain. I helped her on with her underclothes and fastened her stays. She managed the rest herself, though not quickly, while I took the opportunity to return Humphrey's cane to its case, having first polished it with my handkerchief. Beautifully balanced, with a nice slick action, it had been a joy to use. When I apologised to Humphrey for making so free with his equipment - as I fully intended doing at the earliest opportunity - I would ask where he obtained it.

‘All done, Mrs Bryce?' I asked, when she had put herself in order once more. ‘You're ready?'

‘Yes, sir. Quite ready.'

‘Then let us depart. Please, take my arm and we will go down together. It will soon be time for luncheon and I'm feeling quite peckish. There's nothing quite like vigorous exercise for working up an appetite, is there?'

 

After luncheon I searched once more for Belinda and finally caught up with her in the library. She was alone, sitting by the window quietly reading a book - a perfectly reasonable occupation in a library, you might be thinking, but this was Spankers Seven Exiles, for goodness sake! Someone should be flogging her, or fucking her, or preferably both. I'd have volunteered for the job myself in a flash but I was already late for the maid's training session with Nigel. I simply had to speak with his wife first, however.

‘Belinda,' I said, ‘there you are at last. I've been searching high and low.'

‘I've been out riding with Humphrey,' she said. ‘We only got back a short while ago.'

‘I'd have thought the pair of you did enough of that last night,' I said, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

‘Jealous, Jamie?' she asked with a smile.

‘Insanely. You didn't happen to see my ward in your travels, did you? I had a little something in mind for the pair of you.'

‘I bet you did,' she said. ‘A rather painful “little something” too, I imagine. Luckily for us you've missed your chance. Humphrey took her off somewhere right after he and I got back.'

‘Humphrey?' I said suspiciously. ‘What business could he possibly have with Elizabeth?'

‘What man wouldn't wish to share the company of such a beautiful young woman?' she asked. ‘I see no need for concern, Jamie. He's promised not to attempt a seduction and Humphrey's a man of his word.'

I took the opportunity to thank Belinda for all her help and understanding in the matter, adding that I felt somewhat guilty at bringing a celibate along to an event such as this.

‘You shouldn't,' she said. ‘She's a most delightful girl and wonderful company. We had a lovely long chat this morning, woman to woman, before Humphrey asked me to join him. Besides, it's not as if you men are deprived of female companionship, is it, what with the staff and all. And while we're on the subject, how was Queenie last night?'

Only Belinda, I thought, could ask such an outrageous question and make it seem no more than a polite enquiry among friends. ‘Queenie was Queenie,' I said simply. ‘It's tonight I was wondering about, to tell the truth. I just hope we don't end up cutting cards again. I must be the world's unluckiest card player.'

‘Oh,' she said, ‘I think the arrangements for tonight have largely been made.'

My heart sank. Had I missed my opportunity again, then? ‘Really?' I said, trying hard for a nonchalant tone. ‘Who is with whom, so to speak?'

‘Well, Nigel tells me he's making another run at the scullery maid, though frankly I don't know what he sees in her, virginity aside. Humphrey is bedding our housekeeper - and I can certainly see what he sees in
her
; though breasts so large must surely be a great encumbrance, don't you think?'

‘Possessing none, I feel unqualified to offer an opinion,' I said. ‘And you? Where will you be tonight?'

She sighed. ‘All alone in my own little bed, I fear. No one seems to want me.'

‘Oh, someone wants you, Belinda,' I said, ‘never doubt it. He wanted you last night, but fate decreed otherwise. He's damn well having you tonight, though, or his name's not James Montague.'

‘I can hardly wait,' she murmured, her eyes twinkling. ‘I do so love being had!'

 

 

Nigel's new maid performed rather poorly at her training session, I'm sorry to say. At one point I was obliged to hold her down while Nigel finished the set, and at the end he told her she would have to repeat the entire lesson just as soon as her bottom was in a fit state. Lesson eight - Endurance Under The Rod - remains a stern test of any woman's mettle. It takes a great deal of courage and willpower to endure a lengthy beating and the Queenie Bryces of this world are few and far between.

Elizabeth was nowhere to be found in the afternoon: I could only assume she was still with Humphrey. It was no great hardship to spank Belinda alone, of course, but I was thwarted even in that more modest enterprise, for our hostess was called away to deal with some domestic emergency below stairs. Obliged to entertain myself in other ways I stalked the house and gardens, delivering a lively dozen to any young woman unfortunate enough to cross my path. Though it lacked the drama and excitement of a proper maid hunt - six or eight howling fellows, canes in hands, pursuing some terrified young thing through the shrubbery - I enjoyed myself enormously. It is the simple things in life, I find, that often give the most pleasure.

After dinner we again gathered in the lounge, where the butler, Ogden, stood holding a small, brass-bound wooden box of the sort in which a gentleman might keep his shaving gear. It seemed reasonable to assume this object had some role to play in the upcoming entertainment.

My ward, I have to say, was looking truly sumptuous, with her dark, lustrous hair done up in an elegant coil. She was wearing a diamond necklace and earrings, presumably borrowed from Belinda, for Elizabeth had no jewellery of her own apart from the string of pearls that had been her mother's. Most astonishing of all was her dress, a stunning affair in scarlet satin that left her shoulders and throat bare. I assumed this was one of Belinda's too, though that did make me wonder how Elizabeth managed to squeeze herself into it in the first place, given the disparity in their statures. On the other hand, it would explain the spectacular decolletage my ward was presently displaying as the straining material fought valiantly to contain her bosom.

One thing was certain - those heaving twin mounds had every man in the room feeling rather hot under the collar. Humphrey certainly looked impressed and Nigel couldn't keep his eyes off them. Even the butler's customary reserve slipped as he stared openly.

Elizabeth sat on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, with her five fellow Exiles seated in a semi-circle in front of her. She took a deep breath - which made me fear greatly for the red dress, for surely no material known to man could withstand such a strain - and started to speak.

‘The name of the game is Retribution. It is a game of questions and answers - answers that should be considered most carefully, for a mistake will soon draw the swift retribution of the title.' She swept her gaze around her attentive audience. ‘Men are always accusing women of chattering too much, so I thought it might be amusing to play a game where words spoken carelessly result in hot bottoms.'

Nigel chuckled and Humphrey smiled at her fondly. Elizabeth's fellow slaves appeared rather more serious, which was perhaps understandable given that the hot bottoms in question would be their own.

‘At least,' Elizabeth said, lowering her eyes demurely, ‘it seems amusing to me. You may think it a silly game, unworthy of this esteemed company.'

‘Not at all, my dear,' Nigel said gallantly. ‘It sounds most appealing, I'm sure.'

But my ward appeared to be suffering a sudden crisis of confidence, for she covered her face with her hands and gave a forlorn sigh. ‘Oh dear,' came the muffled murmur. ‘I fear I've let you down. You won't like my game at all, I just know you won't. Oh dear!'

Belinda started to rise, a look of sympathy and concern on her face, but Nigel beat her to it, stepping forward quickly to sit beside Elizabeth. He straightaway put his arm around her and patted her naked shoulder.

‘There, there,' he said in a kindly fashion. ‘My dear girl, you're being far too hard on yourself - I'm sure it's a perfectly splendid game. Won't you tell us about it, Ursula... please?'

His voice was warm and reassuring, though I noticed he didn't pass up the chance to look down her cleavage while comforting her. Elizabeth lowered her hands and turned to him, her beautiful dark eyes blinking appealingly. ‘Probably it is a silly game,' she said, ‘but I was so looking forward to playing it.'

‘And play it we shall,' he said stoutly, ‘never fear.'

‘Truly, Sir Nigel?' she said, in a little girl's voice. ‘You promise?'

‘You have my word on it.'

It was at that moment, I think, a niggle of doubt entered my mind. I'd never seen my ward like this - unsure, childlike, vulnerable; it just wasn't the Elizabeth I'd come to know these past six months. Could it be, then, that this was all just an act? If so, it was a highly accomplished one; and neither could I see what she might hope to gain from such a charade. So far she had obtained nothing more than Nigel's promise we would play the game - but we were going to do that anyway, weren't we? It was all rather puzzling.

Elizabeth bestowed upon our host a shy, grateful smile and dabbed at her eyes with her lace handkerchief, though there was no sign of a tear that I could see.

‘Are you sure you're all right, my dear?' Belinda enquired.

‘Quite all right thank you, Lady X,' Elizabeth said. ‘Please forgive me; it was just a momentary foolishness on my part. It is quite gone now, I promise. Forgive me, everyone.'

She glanced at each of us in turn as she spoke. She was smiling again, her self-possession apparently restored. Everyone smiled back, happy that the crisis was over. Nigel made no effort to return to his seat, however, but seemed content to stay where he was, his arm around her.

‘Where was I?' Elizabeth said. ‘Oh yes - I was stressing the importance of getting the answers right and the consequences of getting them wrong.'

‘Hot bottoms, indeed!' Nigel chuckled.

‘
Very
hot, Sir Nigel. Let me tell you now how the game works. Retribution is a quiz, for which we will form into two teams, masters and slaves. Ogden will act as question master and referee. This morning he prepared forty slips of paper, writing a question on one side and the answer on the other and put them in the locked box he has in his keeping. He spent some considerable time in the library working at this task and I thank him for his efforts.'

She favoured the butler with a smile, but he had recovered his composure and seemed determined not to lose it a second time, staring ahead resolutely.

‘He will ask each team in turn a question and will keep the score,' Elizabeth went on. ‘You have my solemn promise I have not seen the slips of paper and have no knowledge of either questions or answers, as Ogden can confirm. I will, however, withdraw from the competition if you so wish, for you have only our word that no trickery has taken place. I will remain silent throughout and take no part in the proceedings, though naturally I will share in any punishment that is due.'

Elizabeth paused and looked gravely at Nigel, Humphrey and myself in turn. I was tempted to say yes, withdraw, partly to tease her and partly because I still didn't trust her entirely. Honour forbade it, of course, and I didn't get the chance in any case. Nigel snorted and pooh-poohed the very idea and Humphrey was equally dismissive, leaving me with no option but to frown and shake my head, as though the notion she might cheat was simply too ridiculous to contemplate. Elizabeth thanked us for our trust and confidence.

‘Now to the scoring,' she said. ‘As I explained, there are forty slips in the box, so each team will be asked twenty questions. We take the difference in the final scores and translate that into dozens of strokes. For example, should the masters score seventeen and the slaves nine, then the slaves will be given eight dozen strokes - seventeen minus nine - shared between them, or thirty-two strokes each. The maximum punishment possible is eighty strokes each, though that would mean the masters got every question right while the slaves got them all wrong, which seems unlikely.'

‘Let us hope so, at least,' Belinda muttered fervently.

I had an uneasy feeling about this. I sensed there was something wrong - not with Elizabeth's arithmetic, but with the whole idea. I was trying to work out what it was when my ward spoke up again.

‘The winners,' she said, with a slight nod in our direction, ‘will naturally decide upon the details: implement, position, the hardness of the strokes, whether it is to be a bare-bottom spanking, or indeed if the losers are to be totally naked. They must also decide whether the losers are punished singly or all together. And that, masters and slaves, is Retribution.'

There were warm congratulations all round and a scattering of applause. Elizabeth smiled modestly.

‘It's a damned clever idea,' Nigel declared, giving my ward a squeeze that pushed her bosom up even higher, though I wouldn't have believed it possible. ‘We'll be doing our utmost to get them right, as that means more strokes, while the girls will be doing the same, as that means less. Isn't she clever, James?'

‘She is indeed,' I said, wishing I knew what it was that was bothering me.

And then the answer came to me and I understood what she had been planning all along - far too late, sadly, for her trap was sprung the second Nigel gave his solemn word we would play the game. I saw how ingenious and manipulative my ward had been, with the breakdown at the start to gain our sympathy, then the little-girl-lost routine to get some gallant male rushing to comfort her. Nigel and Humphrey were the likely targets, though surely no man alive was immune from Elizabeth's charms; under less suspicious circumstances it might have been me. My God, even her tits were in on the act, befuddling our wits with their repeated attempts to escape their satin prison! And all to extract a promise that we would play the game without knowing what it was. Once Nigel had committed us, we couldn't back out or try to change the rules without seeming like dishonourable blackguards.

Understanding brought little sense of satisfaction: indeed, my spirits sank like the proverbial stone. My thoughts must have shown in my face, for Elizabeth smiled triumphantly and even had the effrontery to wink at me, the impudent hussy! All I could do was sigh glumly and raise hand to imaginary cap in salute.

‘Gentlemen,' I said wearily, glancing across at Humphrey and Nigel, ‘I rather think we're overlooking something.'

‘Really?' Nigel said. ‘I can't imagine what. Ursula has explained everything so beautifully.'

‘Not quite everything, I'm afraid; my slave omitted one particular scenario. Not on purpose, I hasten to add - she would never do anything so devious or underhand. I expect she simply forgot.'

Humphrey's puzzled expression changed to one of comprehension. ‘Ah, yes,' he said quietly. ‘Oh dear.'

‘What the deuce are you on about?' Nigel snapped, clearly annoyed at being the odd man out.

‘I think what James is getting at,' Humphrey said, ‘is what happens if the slaves win?'

Nigel snorted, but then he paused. He looked at Elizabeth and raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, Ursula? What then?'

‘Oh,' Elizabeth said, smiling sweetly, ‘didn't I say? If we win, why... we spank you.'

Only once in my entire life have I been spanked and it was at my own instigation. It was an experiment, nothing more, to see what it felt like. I was just starting out on my spanking career and thought the experience would be good for me. The spanker was none other than Jessie, the little scullery maid who was my first love and special friend. We agreed upon one dozen only, on the bare buttocks, and her first few strokes were tentative in the extreme for she was naturally afraid of hurting me. I ordered her to strike harder and as the dozen progressed she grew steadily bolder. The final three hurt like the devil, so that I had to grit my teeth to keep from crying out. It had been an interesting and valuable experience but one I was never tempted to repeat. In fact, I vowed that no one would spank me ever again and for three decades and more no one had. Now, it seemed, all that might change - unless the masters won.

‘I don't see cause for gloom, gentlemen,' Nigel said, once our slaves had retired to hold their own council of war, ‘for we cannot lose.'

I admired his optimism, but remained unconvinced. I was no great reader and didn't consider myself ‘scholarly' by any stretch of the imagination. The only area in which I claimed any real expertise was flogging, but it seemed unlikely we would touch on that particular topic. And though my two oldest friends were certainly clever enough men in their own way, I didn't think of them as being especially well-read or knowledgeable in any broad sense.

‘Even if we do lose,' Humphrey said, ‘I'm not sure I see the dilemma. God knows, we've handed out enough beatings in our time - surely we can take one in good spirit?'

‘Have you ever been beaten?' I asked.

‘Well, no.'

‘I have, once, many years ago. And once was enough.'

‘The question is academic,' Nigel said, in a tone of utter certainty. ‘I promise you, gentlemen, we will win.'