Their Master's Pleasure (24 page)

I worked it in and out of her rectum with long, smooth strokes and she abandoned her oral servicing of Michael in the light of this sudden and questionable assault.

‘Mrs Smith!' he snapped, clearly not best pleased. ‘Have you forgotten about me?'

‘Oooo... ooooh!'

‘Madam, I am waiting!'

Suppressing a grin, I took pity on him and paused in my endeavours till she took him in her mouth once more. I slipped my free hand beneath her and rubbed her slit, especially her clitoris, to encourage her efforts. Soon she was slurping him greedily and pushing down with her hips against my hand in her search for increased pressure. At this point I thought it safe to resume the rectal probing.

 

Some considerable time and two orgasms later - neither of them mine - I accompanied Michael upstairs, for he said it was time for Faith's daily study. His charge had remained confined to the guest bedroom for much of the time, taking all her meals there. She was only allowed out twice a day for exercise and that under strict supervision.

She didn't seem particularly pleased to see us, I have to say, especially when Michael took from his case a leather-bound book, two short lengths of thin cord and what appeared to be a fly swatter. This latter object consisted of a piece of stout leather, perhaps three inches square, affixed to the end of a short stick. I presumed it was intended for swatting bottoms rather than flies, but soon found out it was for neither.

Michael said nothing to her, but merely nodded. She took off the simple shift she was wearing, followed by her vest and drawers. Naked, she sat on the bed, leaning back against the piled up pillows. She then drew her heels up close to her buttocks and spread her knees wide, placing the soles of her feet together. Michael tied one piece of cord around her two big toes and the second around both little toes.

‘This is supposed to keep her legs apart,' he explained. ‘With some women it is very effective, but Faith is more supple than most. To be frank, I sometimes wonder why I still bother. Would you mind sitting just there, James, on her left?'

I went round and perched on the edge of the bed where he indicated. Michael handed the leather-bound book to his charge, took hold of the fly swatter and sat down on her right.

‘Hold her knee down, there's a good fellow,' he said. ‘She doesn't like this and always tries to close her legs.'

I did as he requested, pressing her left knee down to the mattress, while Michael did the same with her right. She was a delightful sight, I have to say, with her little naked slit pouting prettily. Shaved crotches can be so very appealing, I find, and I wondered why the practice was not more widely employed in spanking circles.

‘Start at the beginning,' Michael said to her. ‘Mr Montague may find Dr Winkler's exhortations illuminating.'

With obvious reluctance Faith opened the book and began to read out loud. It was the first time I had heard her speak, apart from the odd word or two, and I was rather surprised. Her voice was soft and cultured, and it was clear she had been well educated. She read beautifully, in fact, though it was apparent she had little enthusiasm for the text.

The book, I soon discovered, was a treatise by said Dr Winkler - of whom I had never heard - on female deportment. The gist of the opening paragraphs seemed to be that young women should remain silent till spoken to, which seemed a most meritorious proposition to me. Faith herself seemed somewhat less enamoured of it, to judge from her listless tone, but then the reason for her lack of enthusiasm soon became clear when Michael began to strike her vulva with the fly swatter. He didn't strike especially hard, but the assault was relentless. Slap-slap-slap-slap it went, an almost liquid sound, rapid and resolute. Faith's voice faltered and I saw that her vulva was rapidly turning bright pink.

Page followed page. Dr Winkler moved on to the subject of the female brain, suggesting that women did not possess a mind in the way men understood the word. The more I heard, the more I liked and respected the fellow.

Faith was clearly having great difficulty maintaining her focus. Her voice was wavering badly now and I was obliged to use significant force to keep her knee down. I couldn't imagine how Michael might manage this on his own.

At long last the chapter drew to a close and Faith put down the book thankfully. Michael stopped and reached to her groin, teasing the pouting lips and pulling them this way and that as he examined her. They positively glowed and she gasped as her master tweaked her sore flesh.

‘I normally end the lesson at this juncture,' he said. ‘Faith becomes hard to handle after a chapter, for one thing. That's not the main problem, however, for I could always get Rawlings or one of the other men to help. No, the real problem is my wrist, which always aches so much I find it hard to continue. That's the drawback with prolonged, rapid striking, of course.'

He had a point. I find it curious that it is invariably the victims of corporal punishment who attract sympathy and never the spanker, despite the considerable physical discomfort we are often obliged to endure. Aching wrists, arms and even shoulders are an occupational hazard, yet we rarely receive commiseration, except from fellow floggers. This world we live in can be very unfair, sometimes.

‘A solution is readily available this time, however,' Michael declared, handing the fly swatter to me. ‘Mr Montague, if you would be so kind? Faith, pray continue reading from the start of chapter two.'

She looked at him in trepidation. ‘Sir,' she murmured, ‘have I not suffered enough?'

‘Chapter two, Faith,' he said sternly. ‘Or would you prefer chapters two
and
three? I'm sure Mr Montague and I can manage that between us, if necessary.'

The young woman shook her head fearfully. She took up the book once more and began to read. I, for my part, raised the swatter and began to slap her as Michael had done, while continuing to hold down her leg.

In chapter two Dr Winkler went on to expound his theory that, lacking minds, young women were unlikely to gain enlightenment except through suffering - a hypothesis I was most happy to explore. Though I cannot be certain Faith gained a great deal of enlightenment in the next fifteen minutes, I can certainly confirm she suffered.

 

 

 

The clear out of the cellars was complete by the following morning and Rawlings led Michael and myself on a tour of inspection. The first thing I saw was that oil lamps had been installed in the rooms we intended using and also in the passageway. I have to say, I was most pleased with the work that had been done. The place looked clean and tidy, there were chairs and stools in all the rooms and the so-called rack room had been fitted out in addition with two tables, one large and one small. The trunk Michael had brought with him had also been carried down and was presently sitting on the large table.

We declared ourselves highly satisfied with the work done so far and Michael reaffirmed that the lines should be the next priority. Rawlings went off in the wagon with Foster, my groom, to fetch materials and so forth, including timber from the sawmill for the frame, while Michael and I proceeded to unpack the trunk.

‘I have to tell you, James,' my guest said, ‘that what we did to your cook and to Faith is about as gentle as this game can get. With the stuff in here we can indulge in
far
more serious play.'

The first item out was a saddle for the bicycle - and a most unusual saddle too, for a thick wooden phallus protruded through a hole in the leather seat.

‘That looks mighty uncomfortable, I have to say,' I remarked.

‘It certainly is,' Michael said. ‘A ride around the lanes on this has brought a tear to many a female eye. Anal penetration of course, as you probably guessed from the forward inclination. What's not obvious right now is that when it's assembled the wooden cock is linked to the crank. Round and round go the pedals, up and down goes Henry Thomas here. Anyone riding the thing is giving herself a good deep arse-fucking into the bargain. Clever, what?'

Next he fetched out a cone. This was the largest and heaviest item of all, some two feet in height and a foot in diameter at the base. It was made of wood, carved from a solid piece of oak, with an iron hoop around the base to prevent splitting. The top twelve inches were sheathed in burnished copper and the point smoothed off so that it was not sharp, but rounded to the size of a cherry.

‘In case you hadn't guessed,' Michael said, ‘they have to sit on this.'

‘Good Lord!'

‘Indeed,' he chuckled. ‘Riding the bicycle is almost fun in comparison.'

Other objects were brought out. There were half a dozen boxes and as many leather bags and Michael opened each in turn and showed me the contents. There were boxes of clamps and clips in all shapes and sizes, some made of wood, some of metal. One box contained long steel needles, whilst another held assorted candles. In the bags I saw harnesses, leather cuffs and collars, together with cords and ropes galore. One bag contained a selection of short whips - lashes, quirts and so forth - whilst another held gags, or so Michael assured me. Certain of these seemed most odd indeed, I have to say. I always understood gags were used to silence a victim, yet some of the items I inspected could in no way achieve that.

The last objects to come from the crate were breast clamps, or so I was informed. Some were made of flat pieces of wood, profiled to fit the ribcage, whilst others were no more than straight rods of wood or, in one case, steel. All had screw devices at both ends by which the upper and lower member could be drawn together, so that the method of use seemed obvious.

‘That's everything,' Michael declared. ‘All I decided to bring, in any case.'

‘More than enough, I would have thought. I feel rather like one of those fellows who ran the Spanish Inquisition.'

‘Having second thoughts about this, old man?' Michael said. ‘Speak up if you are. I'm well aware that the reality of this game can be somewhat daunting to an innocent fellow like yourself.'

It had been a long time indeed since I had thought of myself as ‘innocent', yet I understood what he meant. Though a flogger of no mean experience, I was certainly a total novice when it came to bondage and torture. Looking at the array of fiendish devices around me, I felt more than a little guilty at the thought of inflicting all this upon those poor, unsuspecting women upstairs. I had no choice but to proceed, for it would be sheer cowardice to back out now, but I did need to make it plain to Michael that this was just an amusement to me and that I felt a certain responsibility towards the nine females in my charge. Watching them suffer was one thing, but I had no interest in seeing them writhing in agony - indeed, such a thing was abhorrent to me. As with the beatings I handed out, there were limits beyond which I was not prepared to go.

Michael, when I explained all this to him, claimed to understand perfectly. He seemed somewhat amused, to tell the truth, and told me this game could be played at many different levels. Having assured me he would do nothing to any of our victims that I was not comfortable with, I felt considerably easier in my mind and was happy to proceed.

Rawlings returned around midday and commenced installing the lines. Naturally I watched with interest, though the answer to the mystery proved disappointingly mundane, a line being nothing more than a length of rope hanging in a loop beneath a roof beam. A simple pulley block was fixed to one end of the beam and an iron spike knocked into the wall directly below. Some ten feet from the pulley, a heavy iron staple was driven into the beam and one end of the rope was fastened to this. The rope then dipped down and back up again, passed over the pulley and was tied finally to the spike. That was all there was to it. I was a little disappointed, I have to say, and failed to see why Michael was so keen to have these contraptions rigged. I couldn't imagine how they would be used, for one thing, but my guest refused to elaborate.

All ten lines were installed by late afternoon and Rawlings then made a start on the frame. As it promised to be very heavy as well as large, he decided to build it in situ, it being easier to carry wood and fixings down the cellar steps than the finished article.

After dinner Michael suggested we try out the lines, asking if I had any preferences as to which of our victims went first. It could be just one of them, he said, or all ten, or any number in between.

‘Three,' I said, after a moment's thought. ‘Why don't you demonstrate it on the girls?'

I lost no time in sending for my wards. The five of us made our way to the cellars and along to the line room, as we had rather unimaginatively decided to call it. The noise of sawing and hammering from down the passageway was a little irksome, though I tried to ignore it. This became considerably easier when Michael ordered my wards to strip, for watching young women undress is never other than totally absorbing. I expected protestations - from Elizabeth, at least - but there were none. Red-haired Victoria, predictably, seemed actually happy to comply, for the hussy no doubt imagined sexual shenanigans must figure somewhere in all this strangeness.

Michael took hold of Catherine's arm and Elizabeth spoke up finally. ‘Whatever you intend doing to us, do it to me first.'