Their Master's Pleasure (16 page)

Though I said nothing more I was far from happy, for I thought he was underestimating our opponents. Elizabeth was extremely bright and most conscientious at her studies, and Belinda was sharp as a razor and well-read into the bargain. True, I knew nothing of Queenie's abilities in this regard, but two highly qualified team members seemed more than enough to me.

The slaves returned and we all took our places. Ogden stood at the table, the box before him, while we sat facing him in a line, six of us on wooden chairs with a gap between the two teams. I cannot recall ever being so nervous: even school examinations were as nothing compared to this. I glanced across at our opponents, who appeared worryingly confident. Elizabeth saw me looking and beamed at me. I scowled back, which wasn't the most gentlemanly of responses I agree, though it was an honest expression of my present mood.

Ogden cleared his throat. ‘Masters and slaves,' he said, ‘you should expect questions on history, geography, music, literature and botany, amongst others. In total there are forty questions which I shall draw in random order. Teams are free to discuss the question amongst themselves before replying. Lord Newburn will reply for the masters and Lady X for the slaves. Who wishes to go first?'

‘The masters, naturally,' Belinda said. ‘Masters lead, slaves follow.'

‘Very well, my lady.' The butler reached into the box and drew out a slip of paper. ‘Masters, what is the world's longest river?'

‘The Nile,' Nigel sang out.

‘Aren't we supposed to be discussing it?' I grumbled.

‘Sorry, old chap; won't happen again. Go ahead, Ogden... am I right?'

The butler turned the slip of paper over. ‘Yes, sir, quite correct.'

‘One down, nineteen to go,' Nigel muttered cheerfully. I realised he was actually enjoying this, which was more than I could say for myself.

Our question master drew out another slip. ‘Slaves, what is the common name for the fungus Amanita phalloides?'

The three of them put their heads together for a whispered conference and I gathered from their frowns and pursed lips they were not entirely sure. Finally they sat up straight. ‘Destroying Angel?' Belinda ventured.

‘Wrong,' came the answer. ‘Death Cap. The score is now one to the masters and nil to the slaves.'

‘Told you so!' Nigel said, rubbing his hands in glee. ‘It's in the bag!'

It wasn't so cut and dried as that, in fact, and at one point our opponents were actually ahead, for we were unfortunate in drawing two music questions in a row and none of us claimed any expertise in that particular field. My fright was thankfully short-lived, however, for we slowly pulled level and then ahead, with the final score eighteen to sixteen.

‘Well done, masters!' Belinda cried, beaming as she applauded our victory. ‘Well done indeed!'

Elizabeth and Queenie added their congratulations, though I could tell my ward's heart wasn't in it, having wished for - and indeed expected - a different result entirely. Her fellow slaves might be magnanimous in defeat, but I knew the smile on Elizabeth's lips was entirely forced.

The three of them retired while we considered the manner of punishment to be handed out; and the first thing Humphrey and I did once they had gone was congratulate Nigel, for without him our score would have been pitiful indeed - fifteen of our eighteen correct answers had come from our host. It seemed astonishing to me that in all the years I had known him, not once had he divulged this hidden talent.

‘I'm blessed with a good memory, nothing more,' he said, making light of the matter. He was clearly reluctant to talk about it and indeed seemed somewhat embarrassed. It brought to mind my grandfather, who regarded scholarship as unmanly and unworthy of a true gentleman, and I wondered if that same way of thinking lay at the heart of Nigel's reticence.

‘Anyway, down to business,' I said, to spare our host further awkwardness.

‘Yes indeed,' Nigel muttered. ‘And I have to say, I was hoping for a much bigger margin. A difference of two points means just eight strokes apiece - hardly worth polishing the cane for.'

Nigel was too chivalrous to criticise Elizabeth openly, though I guessed both he and Humphrey believed she had erred in the devising of Retribution, specifically in the matter of translating the winning margin into strokes of the cane. I knew differently, however. There was no miscalculation on my ward's part, for she expected to win and was no doubt concerned we men would rebel if faced with a beating of several dozen strokes apiece. I kept the thought to myself, however, for it was better my friends continue to believe she had simply made a mistake.

‘Eight strokes is lamentable, I agree,' I said. ‘We need to spice things up, somehow, if we're to make this evening memorable. Actually, I have an idea how we might do that.'

‘Let me guess,' Humphrey said, rolling his eyes. ‘It's to be absolute, full strength scorchers with the heaviest cane in the house... or are we to send to the blacksmith for an iron rod?'

‘In fact,' I said, ignoring the sarcasm, ‘I had something rather different in mind. Allow me to explain.'

 

 

 

The ladies rejoined us and we all availed ourselves of the comfortable chairs and sofas by the fire.

‘Dear slaves,' Nigel said, ‘having discussed the matter at length, we have agreed upon the nature of your chastisement. According to the rules of the game as outlined by our beautiful Ursula, a score of eighteen to sixteen means you are due two dozen strokes to be shared between you. Since eight strokes apiece is little more than a token punishment, we were obliged to contrive something... out of the ordinary, shall we say, in order to have a castigation worthy of Spankers Seven Exiles. At this point I shall step aside and allow James to enlighten you, since the idea was all his.'

‘Oh God,' Belinda murmured.

‘And well you may call on Him, Lady X,' I said sternly, ‘for Divine intervention remains your only hope of mercy. We your masters fully intend to show you none.'

I paused and passed my gaze over each of them in turn, allowing the silence and their imaginations to work on their nerves. They'd been far too relaxed since the competition ended, no doubt thinking eight strokes was no great trial for women who'd been bending for years. Belinda and Queenie were chatting together happily just a minute ago, and for slaves to remain cheerful while waiting to learn what punishment lay in store for them was a travesty.

‘The implement we have chosen,' I went on in the same doom-laden tones, ‘is a strap. To be more precise, it is the thickest tawse in Lord Newburn's collection. One of you - and who that is has yet to be determined - will soon understand she has been exceedingly lucky, for she will receive the eight strokes on her buttocks. They will be hard strokes, naturally, but even so she is the fortunate one, for her fellow slaves will receive their eight strokes on vulva and breasts respectively. As I hardly need point out, their tribulations will be great indeed.'

I was pleased to note that smiles were no longer in evidence at this point: indeed, our slaves looked more than a little apprehensive as they exchanged glances, each no doubt hoping she would be the lucky one.

‘Mr Porton-Jones will administer Lady X's punishment,' I explained, ‘Lord Newburn Yasmine's, while I shall deal with Ursula.'

I had asked to be allowed to punish Elizabeth while we waited for the ladies to rejoin us. My fellow masters, as old friends do, agreed without questioning my motives, though Humphrey gave me a thoughtful look.

Having informed our slaves of the nature of their punishment, I rose to my feet and took from my pocket the straws I had prepared earlier. ‘In time-honoured fashion you will now draw straws. She who draws the longest will be beaten on the buttocks, the middle straw on her vulva and the short straw on her breasts.'

I turned my back to arrange the straws, holding them in the usual manner - trapped between thumb and curled index finger with only the ends showing - then turned once more to offer Belinda first choice. She reached out tentatively and drew one out, then Queenie did likewise. I handed the single straw remaining to Elizabeth, after which the three women compared selections.

‘I'm longest,' Belinda said, relief plain to hear in her voice.

‘And I'm shortest,' Elizabeth said, as she and Queenie exchanged unhappy looks.

The worst part about engineering a deception, I find, is not being able to boast to one's friends about it afterwards. The risk of being branded a scoundrel and a cheat - and a braggart to boot - is too great and so one's cleverness must go unrecognised. It was doubly important I remain silent in this instance, for Nigel and Humphrey would not approve of my chicanery and most certainly the ladies would not.

The need for trickery had arisen once I decided to beat Elizabeth on her breasts. Those twin beauties had colluded in her own deception - for her ‘little-girl-lost' act and all the rest was trickery pure and simple, whatever the others might believe - so it seemed only fair they should share her suffering. I therefore concealed in my palm a fourth straw, shorter than all the rest, and it was this I handed to Elizabeth once Belinda and Queenie had made their choices. No matter which straws her fellow slaves picked, Elizabeth's was certain to be the shortest. The use of sleight-of-hand in this fashion is chancy, of course, but my skills proved adequate to the task, with none the wiser. Not for the first time, my boyhood fascination with conjuring and endless practice with cards, silk handkerchiefs and so forth had proved invaluable to the adult James Montague.

‘There is one final matter you should be aware of,' I said. ‘In order to ensure the punishments are of a respectable duration, strokes will be given at one minute intervals. In the intermissions, by way of light entertainment, free use will be made of a candle in your rectums. And now, let the chastisement proceed. Long straw goes first.'

Belinda was ordered to strip. While she was doing so the butler fetched a dining chair and set it down in the middle of the room. When she was naked our hostess was instructed to stand with her legs astride the chair and her hands on the low backrest. Humphrey then took up position alongside her, swung the tawse and delivered a single firm swipe to her buttocks. The heavy strap clearly made itself felt, for Belinda gave a muted yelp, wiggling her hips in discomfort in the seconds that followed as though that might somehow ease the sting.

Since Nigel had volunteered for the task of timekeeper, I was the one who would wield the candle. Fully a foot long and well over an inch in diameter, it was admirably suited to the occasion - all credit to Ogden who had been told to fetch simply ‘a candle'. When he presented us with this fine specimen, I was delighted with his choice. Which was more than could be said of Belinda as I knelt down and eased the thing into her anus, for she groaned and shook her head in dismay. She valiantly maintained her position as I worked the thing in and out, however, whilst leaving me in no doubt as to her feelings on the matter.

‘Agghhh!... God, that hurts! Jamie, you absolute beast!'

‘Courage, Lady X,' I said, trying hard not to smile, for Belinda's predicament was not without humour. Knowing the seconds were ticking by I speeded up, drawing even louder groans and further admonition from those sweet lips.

‘Time,' Nigel said finally.

I withdrew the candle and moved away, allowing Humphrey to deliver his second stroke, then I knelt down behind her once more. Belinda's anal sphincter tightened as I stroked the tip along her buttock cleft and she gave a regretful little sigh. Able to maintain a straight face not a second longer, I grinned as I pushed it into her with a deft corkscrew motion. And so we went on in this fashion, Humphrey and myself plying tawse and candle in turn; and if my old friend failed to deliver the truly hard strokes she had been promised, I couldn't really blame him. Belinda was dear to all of us, and only an unfeeling brute would wish to see her in agony.

With the eighth and final stroke delivered our hostess straightened and moved away, making no attempt to recover her clothing since she had not been given permission to cover herself. Now it was Queenie's turn. I took her arm and led her across the room, for a change of stance was called for, along with a slight variation in the order of things. Having undressed, she was instructed to lie on the table and raise her legs. Nigel and Humphrey took hold of an ankle apiece and spread her legs, while I picked up the candle once more. Queenie flinched as it breached her and let out a faint moan as I worked it deep into her rectum. Leaving the candle inside her I changed places with Nigel, for it was he who would beat her.

‘Are you ready, Yasmine?' he asked.

‘I am, sir,' she whispered.

He raised the tawse and slapped it against her vulva, not too hard, for this part of a woman's anatomy is tender in the extreme. Queenie grunted, her knees instinctively drawing together, so that Humphrey and I were obliged to hold tight to help her maintain her open-legged position. Few women can do this of their own accord - not even Queenie, who was braver than most - and with this form of punishment it is important the victim's intimate parts remain exposed to her master's gaze as a token of submission.