Their Master's Pleasure (28 page)

He then swapped the quirt for a soft lash. This was a new one on me and I examined it with interest, discovering that the numerous thongs were no more than lengths of silk thread. When I drew them through my hand they felt positively luxurious, and when I struck them against my palm the sensation was in no way painful. It was hardly surprising I had never come across such a thing before, since as an implement of correction it would be virtually useless. Michael had not selected it for that purpose, however, but rather as a means of removing the clips. He whirled the silken thongs round and around, never stopping, then moved close to Victoria to strike the clips. These were knocked free at intervals - causing my ward to ‘oooh' and ‘aaah' almost as much as when they were attached - and fell to the floor with a clatter. When the last was gone Victoria's breast clamp was removed, after which she was untied and divested of the cuffs.

‘You can get dressed now, young lady,' Michael said to her. ‘The session is over. We are quite done with you.'

Victoria didn't move, but stood looking at the pair of us expectantly. Michael was busy putting the clips back in the box and seemed unaware of her scrutiny.

‘You want me to go?' she asked, pouting just a little.

‘We do,' I said. ‘Put your clothes on and run along, my dear.'

‘That seems hardly fair, uncle, I must say. Didn't I take my punishment well? I tried to keep still, honestly - it's just that those horrid clip things hurt so much and that first little whip stung cruelly. Was I so bad, Sir Michael?'

‘Bad?' he said, turning to her. ‘No, child, I wouldn't say that. You did rather well in fact, considering it was your first session on the frame.'

‘There you are, then,' she said triumphantly.

Realisation dawned. I chuckled and turned to my puzzled guest. ‘She wants a reward.'

‘A reward?' he said, clearly bemused. ‘You mean
money
?'

‘Not money. Sex.'

He blinked at me. ‘Are you serious?'

‘Never more so. Perhaps you would care to do the honours? It was your show, after all.'

‘You were present too, Uncle James,' Victoria pointed out. ‘I think I deserve a reward from both of you, together.'

‘Good Lord!' Michael said faintly.

‘No point arguing, old man,' I said, as I recalled a favourite expression of Belinda's. ‘Just close your eyes and think of England.'

His eyes were very much open, in fact, as he stared at my ward, taking in her ample charms. Watching him, I thought I recognised the precise instant when the idea of mounting her changed from somewhat scandalous to decidedly appealing. He tore his eyes away finally and looked about him.

‘Not very comfortable down here, though, is it?' he observed.

‘No,' I said. ‘Let's take her upstairs.'

We used Victoria's own bedroom. This was one occasion when I had no great objection to group sex, as Victoria was obviously keen to try it. The saucy hussy took to three-in-a-bed as the proverbial duck takes to water, and was soon bucking and squealing with pleasure as two mouths and four hands went to work on her simultaneously. Having two cocks inside her at once was no less enjoyable, though certainly less noisy, since her mouth was now fully occupied.

All in all, it was a most agreeable hour we spent, there in Victoria's room. Who says that three is a crowd?

 

 

 

Our only failure - if indeed it could be called that - was with Molly and Mary. Before sending for them Michael prepared two identical cords, each precisely four feet long. To each end of each cord he attached a very special metal clip. He showed one to me and I had to admit it was most cleverly contrived, being made up of several pieces which pivoted one against the other. At one end of the clip were pincer-like jaws, whilst at the opposite end was a ring to which the cord was tied. Pulling the cord had the effect of forcing the jaws together - a truly ingenious design feature, for the harder one pulled the more securely the thing would grip.

The way Michael planned to use them could hardly have been more simple. The twins, having stripped naked, were made to get down on their hands and knees facing away from each other. Michael then clipped one end of each cord to the first sister's inner labia and the opposite end to her twin's. He told them to crawl forward to take up the slack and continue to do so till their labia were stretched at least two inches out from their bodies. His final act was to draw a chalk line on the floor midway between the two women.

‘Do you know what a tug-of-war is?' he asked them.

In fact they did, for they informed us they'd seen one once at a fair.

‘Good,' Michael said. ‘I want each of you to crawl forward and try and pull the other one over the line. Are you ready?'

They said that they were. They were both grinning, believe it or not, and I realised the fools imagined this was going to be fun.

‘All right, then,' Michael said. ‘
Go
!'

There was an initial frantic scrambling for advantage, followed by a long, straining stalemate. Soon both of them were red in the face, gasping and grunting and getting precisely nowhere. They glared, teeth clenched in good-natured fury, labia distended to an astonishing degree. I had no idea whether this was normal - maybe all women could do this if only one pulled hard enough. Then again, it might be the Tavistock twins possessed exceptionally elastic skin.

‘Fancy a wager, old man?' Michael said. ‘Ten guineas, say?'

‘You're on,' I said. ‘I'll take Molly.'

If anyone was going to win it would surely be the dominant twin - but I already suspected there would be no winners here today.

‘Which one's Molly?' he asked.

‘I have no idea. I don't think it's going to matter, actually; I doubt we'll have a winner here today.'

I was soon proved right. One twin might gain a small advantage one minute, only to lose it the next. After half an hour, with the pair of them in precisely the same position in which they started, we called a halt and declared the contest a draw. The cords were removed and the twins rubbed their slits, laughing and groaning and chaffing each other all the while. They agreed to forego their ‘treat', being too sore for sex and they dressed and departed in remarkable high spirits.

‘As strange a pair as I've ever set eyes on,' Michael remarked. ‘If I didn't know better I'd say they enjoyed the experience.'

‘I'm certain they did,' I said. ‘And yes, they're unusual, right enough. Come on... I think we've earned a drink.'

 

The first round of individual treatments was almost complete. Only Elizabeth and Cathy still remained - the lines, we agreed, had been a joint exercise and as such did not count.

I discussed the various possibilities with Michael and we decided upon the bicycle. My wards had never ridden one before and we thought it was high time they learned. The next day, therefore, straight after breakfast, the four of us assembled in the courtyard. At a sign from Michael, Rawlings wheeled out the vehicle in question. The look on the girls' faces as they beheld the phallic monstrosity sticking up through the saddle was an absolute joy to behold.

I had decided to kill two birds with one stone by combining their lesson with my morning constitutional. There was no shortage of routes to choose from, but I settled in the end on a favourite walk of mine. It was a six-mile round trip to the old Hanging Stone - an ideal distance for one's first lesson in bicycle riding, I thought. The track was somewhat bumpy in places, true, but Elizabeth and Cathy would simply have to put up with the discomfort. Life is full of bumpy tracks after all, and learning to take the rough with the smooth is all part of growing up.

In accordance with my instructions my wards were wearing their spanking outfits this morning. I thought it might be necessary to encourage their efforts with a whack or two - or possibly a dozen or two - on their bare behinds, so I armed myself with a light bamboo walking stick for that very purpose.

As Elizabeth had volunteered to be the first to attempt the fiendish machine, Michael held the bicycle while I helped her to mount. The phallus had been liberally greased, but even so it was with some considerable difficulty that she forced herself down upon it, and she whined through clenched teeth as the thing pushed into her rectum. Being breached in this fashion was nothing new to her, of course, for the anal phallus we had used in Ride-a-Cock-Horse was of a similar length, though perhaps not quite so fat as this one.

At last she was settled: buttocks in contact with the leather saddle, feet upon the pedals and hands on the handlebars. She looked none too happy, I have to say, and I doubted her humour would improve once we were underway. This seemed likely to prove a sore trial by any standards.

Michael declined to accompany us, saying he'd been neglecting Faith's training somewhat of late and intended to make amends with a long session on the frame. It was just the three of us, therefore, who set off shortly after nine. I steadied the bicycle, my right hand grasping the saddle post firmly, my left resting rather more lightly on the handlebars. Elizabeth pushed down on the pedals and wobbled away - excruciatingly slowly - whilst I walked alongside supporting her. The machine rattled and bumped across the cobbles, Elizabeth's face registering trepidation and suffering in equal measure. Sure enough, as Michael had described it to me, the phallus rose and fell smoothly with every turn of the pedals, sodomising my ward in the process.

‘Uncle, I can't do it!' she gasped.

I assumed she meant she couldn't balance the infernal contraption, rather than couldn't endure having the thing in her bottom. I assured her she could and would in time, promising not to let go until she was confident. We went out of the yard and along the drive, then turned onto the track that led to the distant Hanging Stone. Cathy walked alongside, eyeing the machine unhappily, no doubt mindful of the fact it was her turn next. She carried my walking stick as my hands were fully occupied keeping Elizabeth upright. I did briefly consider asking Cathy to give her sister's bum a swipe or two with the thing, but decided against it. Things were tricky enough without that, God knows.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the Hanging Stone. Elizabeth's torment increased steadily as the painful journey progressed, no doubt the result of the jolting of the wheels over the ruts (clearly my choice of route was more fiendish than I had thought). Her sense of balance did improve towards the end, however, so that I could let go briefly from time to time, whilst remaining ready to grab her should she topple over. She was still far from confident when we reached the changeover point, however, and I foresaw further bicycle riding lessons for my eldest ward in her quest for two-wheeled proficiency.

Cathy and I both had to help her dismount, and as Elizabeth lifted up off the phallus she cried out in pain. She sank to the ground on her hands and knees, groaning and shaking her head, and remained there a full minute.

‘So tell me, my dear,' I said, ‘how does it compare with Dobbin?'

‘Worse,' she moaned.

‘Really? Well, it's over now - for one of you, at least.'

I glanced at Cathy as I spoke. She regarded me also, her pretty eyes most pensive. I'd remembered to bring along a small packet of lard, which I took from my pocket in order to re-grease the phallus, having first set the pedals such that the wooden cock was at its topmost position. Then it was my youngest ward's turn to mount the fiendish machine. I again steadied the bicycle and invited Cathy to climb aboard.

She looked positively petrified as she stood on the pedals, I have to say, and it took considerable encouragement on my part before she lowered herself gingerly onto the upthrust prong. She warbled as it touched her anus, managing perhaps another inch of descent before coming to a dead stop. She hovered there, trembling, neither fully on the thing nor entirely off it. It was hardly surprising she was unwilling to proceed further, for Cathy was an anal virgin. It was no trivial undertaking I asked of her, to breach herself utterly with so large an article. But ask it - nay, demand it - I did. Short of pushing down on her shoulders, however, there was little I could do to hasten matters. I simply had to wait for Cathy to sum up the courage to do it for herself.

Elizabeth had stirred herself finally and spoke quiet words of advice and reassurance to her sister. ‘Best get it over and done with, Cathy dearest,' she said. ‘The sooner we are home, the sooner we can put all this horridness behind us. Think of your very favourite thing in the whole world, and while the image is in your mind, sit down.'

Cathy nodded unhappily. She took a deep breath, gripped the handlebars tightly and began to lower herself. She managed perhaps half the distance before coming to a halt once more with an agonised gasp.

‘Just a little further, dear sister,' Elizabeth said. ‘A very short way only, I promise.'

‘But it hurts so!' Cathy moaned. ‘Lizzie, it's burning!'

‘I know, my poppet, it hurt me too; but there's no help for it, do you see? In the face of adversity we must be brave and strong - isn't that what Reverend Wilkins is always telling us? And you must be very brave now, Cathy. Sit on the saddle and we shall be home in no time at all, I promise.'