Their Master's Pleasure (21 page)

I had never heard Cathy speak in such a rational, articulate fashion. The featherbrained, frivolous young miss I knew only too well had ceased to exist, it seemed, and in her place was this intelligent, serious young woman. Clearly I must walk round with my eyes closed if I'd failed to see the change in her till now.

‘Victoria and I have an understanding,' I said, unwilling to give her a straight answer. ‘If she takes a punishment well - obediently and with no undue fuss - she is entitled to physical consolation. That she chooses certain... stimulation, shall we say... well, that is her prerogative.'

It wasn't a lie, but neither was it the whole truth. Red-haired Victoria and I had progressed beyond that initial stage and these days I frequently bedded her for no other reason than mutual satisfaction. Even as I told Cathy the half-truth, I wondered why I could not be open and honest with her. Was it my agreement with Elizabeth, perhaps? I had regarded Cathy as ‘out of bounds' for so long, the idea of a seduction was decidedly foreign to me. To me, but not to Cathy herself, clearly.

‘I see,' she said. ‘So if I take a punishment well, I'll be entitled to “consolation” too?'

‘Well... yes,' I said, feeling my control of the conversation slip rapidly away. ‘I suppose you will.'

She gave a nod of satisfaction. Her smile, which had disappeared while we had been talking, now returned with a vengeance. She gazed about at the fields and trees as though realising for the first time just how beautiful the countryside was. She even began to sing - her voice was sweet enough, though not strong - and was patently at one with the world. Which was more than I could say for myself.

 

I felt honour-bound to explain to Elizabeth that our agreement was, in all probability, about to come to an end. I took her to one side at the earliest opportunity and recounted my recent conversation with Cathy as best I could remember it. I was expecting an outburst, but she took it remarkably well.

‘I feared this might happen,' she said, more sad than angry. ‘I protected her as long as I could, hoping she might find a decent life for herself, free from the wickedness and depravity into which her sisters have sunk.'

That seemed to me a rather naive view, for we cannot protect people from themselves. We are, each of us, whatever lies deep within our souls and whether it is good or bad it will surely come out, as one pupa turns into a moth and another a butterfly.

‘Well,' I said, ‘there's one bright spot in all of this, for you at least. With our agreement at an end you are relieved of your burden. There is no more need for self-sacrifice on your part, Elizabeth. We have seen the last of games such as Rectal Recital and Ride-a-Cock-Horse.'

She looked at me in a strange fashion. ‘Have we, uncle?' she said quietly. ‘I wonder.'

Maybe she wasn't so naive after all.

 

The very next day, as I was working in my study, Cathy came to see me.

‘Uncle James,' she said, ‘I've been very wicked. I expect you'll want to punish me for it.'

‘Really?' I said, putting down my pen. ‘What have you done?'

‘I squashed the gardener's hat. I told him to give it to me and I threw it in the water barrel. He fished it out again, so I hit it with a shovel and flattened it.'

‘Why in heaven's name would you want to do that?' I asked, though we both knew why; she was looking for an excuse to be punished. ‘Phillips is a doddering old fool, I agree, but that's no reason to flatten his hat, is it?'

She shrugged. ‘It was a silly hat - it made him look stupid. I actually did him a favour by flattening it, though he didn't seem to see it that way.'

I sighed. She was right about the hat, an old bowler our gardener had acquired from God knows where; he did look ridiculous in it. Still, I couldn't allow my wards to go around destroying private property in such a cavalier fashion, no matter how ‘silly' they considered it. I was obliged to punish her, which meant she had got her way - or thought she had. In fact, I was about to have the last laugh.

‘Very well,' I said. ‘Friday, six o'clock. And don't smirk like that, Cathy; you haven't been quite as clever as you imagine. Squashing an old hat isn't exactly the crime of the century, so your punishment will be fairly light. Rather too light to prove you can take a proper punishment, as it happens.'

Now it was my turn to smirk. My ward appeared unperturbed, however. ‘Actually,' she said, ‘it's worse than you think. I waited till Phillips put the silly thing back on his head before I hit it.'

Since the idea of bedding a lovely, nubile young woman was far from repellent to me, you may be wondering why I was resisting on this occasion. Indeed, I would be hard-pressed to come up with a credible answer; although I suspect Elizabeth and her foolish notions had much to do with it. Cathy, however, had outmanoeuvred us both - one look at the enormous bump on the gardener's head convinced me of that. He seemed to suffer no lasting ill-effects, fortunately, and he did get a brand new bowler hat out of it, courtesy of cousin Bertie's wardrobe, which cheered him up no end.

Three dozen was the punishment I announced to Cathy as she stood before me at the appointed time; and they would not be the gentle taps to which she had grown accustomed. She was guilty of assault and battery - free from personal malice, true, yet coolly planned and ruthlessly executed nevertheless. A serious crime indeed, yet there was little sign of contrition in her expression as she listened to my pronouncement. If anything, she looked rather pleased with herself.

‘You understand what I'm saying, Catherine? Three dozen strokes is no trivial matter. I might be willing to review the sentence, however, if you were to apologise to your victim and offer a cash compensation from your own savings.'

‘Thank you, uncle. Respectfully, I decline the offer.'

I shrugged. I had done my best, but she left me with no choice. ‘So be it. The punishment stands. Kindly remove all your clothes.'

While she did so I went to the oak cupboard and took out the medium cane. Cathy was clearly confident she could take a beating well - time now to see if her fortitude and tenacity were equal to the task.

When she was naked I made a point of looking her over in the most overt fashion. I walked slowly around her, feeling here and prodding there, while she stood to attention all the while, eyes straight ahead. I could have sworn her buttocks were fuller than the last time I saw her stripped, just a few short weeks ago. I slapped them, left then right, and watched them quiver. Fuller, definitely. Were her breasts larger too, or was that mere wishful thinking on my part? I took hold of them and proceeded to squeeze gently, which settled the matter beyond doubt. Each was now slightly bigger than a comfortable handful. My ward continued to put on weight in all the right places.

Cathy accepted this manhandling with barely a murmur, which was certainly different from our previous encounters. I explained to her the position I required - a variation on the flying-T, with her legs spread wide, her arms stretched out sideways along the front edge of my desk and her chin resting upon its polished top. She adopted this rather awkward stance without protest, then waited in silence for what would be the hardest thrashing of her young life.

Almost from the first stroke I felt sure she would succeed. The cane bit deep into soft muscle tissue; a resolute cut that, a month ago, would have seen her leaping about the study like a dervish and shrieking the house down. But that was the old Cathy. The new one simply flinched and let out a gasp, quickly choked off.

More strokes followed, equally testing. I didn't rush them, for this was a true punishment beating and I wanted her to remember every single one of them. Though I didn't hurry, neither did I pause. Unusually for me there was no change of position after each dozen and I didn't allow her to rest. Stroke followed firm stroke inexorably, the count mounting steadily as I tested her resolve.

And Cathy proved herself, beyond question. True, her gasps of pain became more heartfelt and were not so easily stifled, and her limbs began to shake as she struggled to maintain the position; but maintain it she did, her hands clenched into fists, right to the end.

‘Stand up,' I said.

She straightened slowly and turned to face me. There were tears in her eyes, but no sign of resentment or self-pity. I gave her permission to rub her bottom, but her arms remained firmly by her side in a final show of determination. Stark naked as she was, with tear-streaked cheeks and a striped bottom into the bargain, she was not without dignity as she faced me there in the study, chin jutting stubbornly, silently challenging me to say she had failed. Needless to say, I could not.

‘Well done, Catherine,' I said. ‘Well done indeed.'

She had fully earned that which she desired and now it was up to me to provide it. I led her to the couch and lay her down, putting my hand between her legs. I watched her face as I stroked my fingertip along her slit, making no attempt to penetrate her.

‘I'm afraid this will hurt somewhat,' I said.

‘Because of my hymen?'

I nodded, surprised she had even heard of it. Cathy smiled ruefully and shook her head. ‘I put a candle inside myself, two weeks ago. It hurt then, but the soreness has passed.'

‘Did Victoria suggest you do this?'

‘Yes. She said I would enjoy it more this way.'

‘What else did she tell you?'

‘A few things. She said it would be the most wonderful experience of my life. She said I should ask you...'

Her voice tailed off and her cheeks, already flushed as a result of my fingering, turned a deeper shade of pink.

‘Ask me what?'

Cathy bit her lip and looked away. I smiled, intrigued by this sudden shyness. My fingertip sought out her clitoris and I rubbed that sensitive nub for a full minute without speaking. She began to moan and her hips rocked insistently under that gentle assault.

‘A very wise lady once told me,' I said, ‘we should always tell our partners what we desire. How else are we to get it, unless they are mind readers?'

Cathy answered me then, though I suspect my finger was more persuasive than my words. ‘She said... I should ask you to lick me... down there, where you are touching me now.'

The last few words came out in a rush. ‘Why, my dear girl,' I said with a smile, ‘nothing would give me greater pleasure.'

But I felt uneasy even as I bent my head to do as she asked. A young woman's first sexual experience should be better than this; more romantic than this. She should love her partner, or imagine she did. At the very least there should be desire and mutual attraction. There would only be one ‘first time' for Catherine and it seemed to me she was squandering it on a man old enough to be her father, a man she would never feel affection for.

I should have told her this, but I didn't. I should have stopped, but instead I serviced her diligently with my tongue till she began to sob and writhe beneath me. My reservations were soon forgotten, swept aside by my own lustful feelings. I couldn't have stopped then even if my life depended on it.

 

 

 

October came, and with it the rain. We suffered a seemingly endless succession of grey, wet days, till the sun was but a distant memory. The paths and tracks became so muddy underfoot I was obliged to confine myself to our country roads for my daily constitutional. I was out one morning, cloaked and hatted against the elements, when I heard the sound of a coach coming up behind.

I stepped onto the verge to let it pass, when a cheery voice cried out from within. ‘Lovely day for a stroll, James, I have to say.'

The coach pulled up and a face I knew as well as my own poked out of the window. ‘Michael!' I exclaimed. ‘How the devil did you get here so soon?'

‘And what a pleasure it is to see you too, old man,' he said with a grin.

I realised I was being ill-mannered in the extreme, for he was here at my invitation and this was certainly no way to greet a guest. ‘Forgive me, Michael,' I said. ‘It's just that I wasn't expecting you till this evening.'

He opened the door and I climbed up into the coach. That's when I had my second surprise, for he wasn't alone. A rather serious-looking young woman sat across from him, wearing a grey cloak with the hood turned up. I was intrigued, for she didn't have the look of a servant about her.

‘Sit down, there's a good fellow,' Michael said, ‘you're dripping all over me. Shuffle up, Faith, and let Mr Montague have a seat.'

I doffed my hat to her as I sat down. Michael flicked drops of water off his trousers, then sat back and grinned at me once more. I waited, but no introduction was forthcoming. I glanced at the young woman, then turned to Michael enquiringly.

‘Faith is a relative of an acquaintance of mine,' he said, which I didn't find especially enlightening. ‘You don't mind my bringing a companion along, James?'

‘Not at all,' I said. ‘Bring just as many relatives of acquaintances as you like, if they're all as pretty as this young lady.' I smiled gallantly as I spoke, but the young woman's sober expression never flickered. She
was
pretty, in fact - delicately featured, with high cheekbones, large, melancholy brown eyes and the most sensual, kissable mouth imaginable. I was most curious as to whom she might be, but it seemed I would just have to wait for an explanation.