Their Master's Pleasure

Their Master's Pleasure
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ISBN:  9781907976537
Author:  B. A. Bradbury
Word Count:  75,250
Format:  eBook



Obliged to BendObliged to Bend
Planet of PainPlanet of Pain

'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.

Lowly maids in Victorian England, whose lives are an endless round of unremitting toil, must surely dream of better things - yet more pitiful by far is the plight of those unfortunate souls who find themselves in the service of a strict disciplinarian. James Montague is a man who delights in watching young women writhe and squirm... seeing creamy-white buttocks turn first pink, then red, then purple... hearing gasps of dismay turn to shrill cries of anguish.

And maids are not alone in feeling the hot kiss of cane and strap, for James' three wards - innocent Catherine, flirtatious Victoria and lovely, spirited Elizabeth - are obliged to bare their bottoms with distressing regularity. A visit by James' godson Frederick merely adds to their woes, for the young man wishes to study the noble art of spanking... and who better to teach him than the stern master of Bleekston Hall?

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.
   And so it went on. I had not specified the number of strokes, but in the end it was two dozen I dispensed. I paused after each six to examine her posterior and allow her a short rest. Not all spankers do this, but it was a habit of mine, one so ingrained and routine I did it without thinking. Another of my trademarks was to order a change of position after each dozen, but on this occasion I did not. Varying one's technique keeps the victim anxious and uncertain, wondering what might happen next - and naturally fearing the worst.
   Following the final stroke, which was harder than the rest, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Her buttocks were striped with narrow red tramlines, marks typical of a cane-like implement. She trembled as she glanced back over her shoulder and I noticed her cheeks were wet. A freshly cut stick such as this, briskly applied, will certainly sting, so I didn't think any the less of my ward for being unable to hold back the tears. In fact she had taken the beating bravely and with minimum fuss - unlike certain other members of the household I could think of. Such fortitude deserved a reward.
   'Stay in position,' I growled.
   She faced forward instantly. I dropped the holly wand and stepped up close behind her, reaching around to her groin. As my middle finger slipped into her slit - already wet, I noticed - she gave another gasp. Though it sounded not unlike her previous utterances, this was an exclamation of pure pleasure. I began to finger her in earnest and soon her hips were gyrating and she was moaning faintly.
   Having a soft, wriggling young woman impaled on your finger is hardly the most grievous of predicaments in which to find oneself and I intended to make the most of it. I had planned to keep her standing there for a lengthy period, bringing her to climax excruciatingly slowly - a subtle form of torture I like to employ from time to time - but my own needs were rapidly becoming urgent, so I ordered her into the rowing boat. I held her hand as she stepped down into the shallow craft, which rocked precariously, then joined her. Victoria was soon ensconced on the seat facing the stern, with myself in the middle of the boat. I had her lay back, whereupon I spread her legs and lifted them over the sides of the boat. As my ward seemed somewhat alarmed at the craft's unsteady motion, I did something guaranteed to distract her: I leaned forward and began to lick her slit.
   I focussed my attentions on her clitoris and soon she was panting in a most entrancing fashion as her hips twitched and jerked. A few minutes of this and I was feeling more than a little heated myself, so I sat up and unfastened my trousers, releasing my cock. I moved over Victoria, paused for just a second to gaze into her misted eyes and grin wickedly, then plunged inside her. She squealed with pleasure and bucked beneath me. Soon the boat was rocking violently, but my ward no longer cared and neither did I. If fate had a mind to overturn the thing and drown the pair of us, so be it. James Montague, for one, could think of far worse ways to go.

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