Their Master's Pleasure (9 page)

‘That's it!' I cried. ‘Go on, Elizabeth! Drive on, brave girl!'

I raised the crop and struck my ward hard across the buttocks. She shrieked and half rose from the saddle. I struck her again and again, two dozen times in all, each cruel stroke drawing forth an agonised cry. Finally I cast away the crop and threw up my arms.

‘Stop!' I cried. ‘It is done! It's over.'

The violent motion slowed; then slowed further, till finally it stopped altogether. Elizabeth fell sobbing on Dobbin's neck, while Freddie looked stunned, as though all this was utterly beyond his comprehension. As for me, I felt entirely drained, I must confess.

We lifted Elizabeth off her mount, Freddie and I, and she stiffened and cried out as the phalluses were drawn from her. ‘Let's get her over to the couch,' I said.

We lay her down and I proceeded to examine her front and back. Unsurprisingly she was dreadfully inflamed and could hardly bear to be touched between her legs.

‘You have to endure this too, Elizabeth,' I said. ‘It's for your own good.'

I had brought along a jar of soothing ointment, for I guessed it would be needed. I smeared some on my finger and pushed it into her anus, sliding it slowly in and out. She did bear it, though Freddie had to hold her hands and she sobbed most pitifully till the compound started to take effect, cooling and calming the raw flesh.

‘How do you feel now, Elizabeth?' Freddie asked, his voice full of concern. ‘Is that helping?'

‘A little,' she murmured.

Having dealt with her back passage I turned my attention to the front, applying the ointment first internally and then externally, for her labia were red and sore from the chafing received during the long and arduous ride. While I was treating her I took the opportunity to stroke her clitoris with my thumb, gently but persistently. At first she was suffering too much to notice, and even when she realised what was happening she had little strength left to stop me. Her body's needs soon asserted themselves in any case and, as I continued thumbing her diligently, her hips began to rock back and forth, a flush returned to her cheeks and she sighed. She didn't look at me, however - it was my godson whose eyes held her own. They gazed at each other so longingly, these two, I began to feel like an intruder.

‘Freddie,' I said, ‘take over here.'

‘Sir,' he protested, ‘I promised not to touch her...'

‘This is medicinal,' I said. ‘It doesn't count. The poor girl needs this to ease her suffering.'

He took little persuading, in fact, and was soon kneeling in my place, his thumb doing sterling service on that sensitive nub.

‘Oh Frederick,' Elizabeth gasped, her movements becoming urgent. ‘Frederick!'

‘Elizabeth,' he murmured, his thumb flicking rapidly now, ‘dear girl.'

So absorbed were they in each other I doubt they even saw me leave. With Elizabeth in her present ravaged state I thought it most unlikely they would attempt intercourse, but there were other ways to achieve mutual satisfaction. Whatever they might choose to do was none of my business, however, but entirely their own.

 

 

 

Later that same evening, as I had just finished writing up the account of Ride-a-Cock-Horse in my journal, there came a knock at the study door.

‘Come in,' I said, putting the book away and locking my desk.

It was the governess who entered, looking so distressed my intended cheery greeting died on my lips. There was a red mark on the left side of her face, high up on the cheekbone, and I wondered if she had fallen.

‘My dear Mrs Hammond,' I asked in concern, ‘whatever has happened? Is that a graze on your cheek?'

‘I'm afraid it is, sir,' she said, clearly put out. ‘I was in a fight.'

‘Good God! A
fight
, you say? Did you win?'

‘I'm sorry, sir; I meant I was in the middle of a fight. Molly and Mary were fighting and I tried to stop it. It was Molly who struck me, though I'm sure it was unintentional.'

She proceeded to relate the whole astonishing story. The fight had started when Molly teased her sister, claiming Freddie preferred her to her twin. Mary disputed this, at which point a heated argument ensued. Molly then hit Mary and battle commenced. Mrs Hammond appeared on the scene and attempted - bravely but probably unwisely - to place herself between the two protagonists, catching a stray blow for her pains. This accidental assault on the governess defused the situation and both sisters quickly calmed down. Molly, in a fit of remorse at having struck her superior and no doubt fearful of the consequences, promptly confessed all. She admitted she had started the argument and thrown the first punch, at which point Mrs Hammond marched the pair of them down the hall and told them to wait outside the study.

‘They're out there now?' I asked.

‘They are, sir. Shall I bring them in?'

‘Not yet. It will do them good to stew for a while.'

I rang for Alice, for I wanted Freddie to be in on this. As the unwitting cause of the argument he was already involved and I had promised him we would share the Tavistock sisters' next punishment. Clearly, that was now imminent. Alice was dispatched to seek out my godson, who soon put in an appearance. He greeted Irene Hammond politely, for he'd been most courteous to her since the unfortunate incident in the classroom and she to him. I apprised him of the situation with regard to the Tavistock twins and was pleased to note he looked more than a little uncomfortable at being the cause of the trouble.

‘Though I don't hold you personally responsible for this fracas, Freddie,' I said sternly, ‘there is a lesson to be learned here. Young women see things differently from us and we should be most careful what we say to them. Utterances such as “dear girl” can be misconstrued and tender hearts are easily broken - you take my meaning?'

I was reminding Freddie of his fond murmurings to Elizabeth following Ride-a-Cock-Horse and clearly he understood, for he nodded earnestly. ‘I meant every word, sir. I care for her, truly I do.'

Irene Hammond, unaware of what had transpired in the nursery and oblivious to the side play, gave a strangled gasp.

‘Don't worry, Mrs Hammond,' I said, ‘he doesn't mean Molly - or Mary, come to that.'

I studied my godson's anxious, honest face and decided he was telling the truth. I felt a little easier in my mind, for I was responsible for Elizabeth's health and welfare and had no wish to see her hurt. (The spankings and humiliations to which I subjected her were altogether a different matter, naturally).

‘Good,' I said. ‘I'm very glad to hear it, Freddie. We'll speak of this later, you and I, but now let us deal with this unhappy incident. Would you call the pair of them in please, Mrs Hammond?'

The sisters were duly ushered in, looking rather sheepish. They stood side by side facing the three of us, their afternoon uniforms - black dresses, white aprons and white caps - considerably torn and tattered. I realised it must have been a furious fight and was impressed with Irene Hammond's willingness to enter the fray.

‘Mrs Hammond has explained the circumstances to me,' I said. ‘I understand that Molly has admitted starting the argument and striking the first blow.' I paused and looked from one to the other. ‘Which of you is Molly, by the way?'

‘I am, sir,' the maid on the left said meekly.

‘Then you are the one most at fault. However, in our customary fashion I shall punish you both equally.' I gave Mary a long look, but there was no indication she objected to this patently unjust treatment. ‘I trust you both appreciate how wicked you have been. That you should argue is bad enough, but fighting is utterly inexcusable. The worst aspect of this whole disgraceful affair, however, is that you injured Mrs Hammond, in consequence of which your punishment will be very severe indeed!'

I glanced at my fellow judges as I said this. Freddie appeared more than a little pleased at the prospect of handing out a sound thrashing, albeit jointly, while Irene Hammond was still looking rather discomposed from her assault. As I wanted a word with Freddie before we got started, I told the Tavistock twins to return in half an hour. Irene Hammond also took her leave, having received my permission to retire to her room to recuperate.

Alone with my godson, I gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘Well, Freddie my boy... I hope your arm's feeling strong.'

‘Strong enough, sir,' he replied with a grin. ‘Strong enough.'

 

I had once watched my grandfather thrash twins, none other than the infamous Hetty and Peggy Bailey. Daughters of one of his tenant farmers, they were wild, unruly girls whose mother had run off the previous autumn with a tinker. Perhaps it was this lack of maternal influence that accounted for their indecorous behaviour, or possibly it was merely their naturally fractious natures. Whatever the reason, their father - almost at his wits end with the pair - brought them up to the big house, though he was obliged to bind them and throw them into the back of his hay cart to get them there.

Never one to refuse a challenge, my grandfather agreed to take the two of them in hand. Knowing they would undoubtedly bolt if freed from their bonds, he had them carried to the stables and tied face down over bales of hay. I was surprised at this, for I had never before seen my grandfather resort to physical restraints in this way. He was a powerful figure of a man, easily able to dominate most young women by force of personality alone. One bellow from those mighty lungs was enough to stop any maid dead in her tracks, rigid with fear, unable to move even if she wanted to.

The Bailey girls were not so easily cowed, however. They struggled and cursed their father as he lifted them from the cart and cursed the grinning grooms who manhandled them into the stables, sneaking a crafty feel at breast or groin when they thought no one was looking. They even cursed my grandfather - a most risky venture considering his fearsome reputation as a flogger.

With the miscreants secured in two vacant stalls, he sent everyone away but me and together we searched around for a suitable implement. We found a loose stave from a broken barrel, which my grandfather tested in the conventional manner, nodding in approval at the meaty
thwack
it made against his palm. Suitably armed, he put his hand on my shoulder and together we studied the appealing sight before us. The Bailey girls lay spread-eagled over the hay bales, bottoms elevated, their wrists tied to a low rail on the wall, their ankles to the corner posts of the stalls.

‘Two for the price of one, Jamie,' he said. ‘Can't say fairer than that, eh, my boy?'

I nodded eagerly. It was indeed a most exciting prospect, though I somehow doubted our two victims would view it in such a light.

My grandfather pointed to the girl on the left. ‘You get that one ready while I see to this one here.'

I had been helping my grandfather for many months now and knew well enough what to do. I squatted down beside my allotted charge and dragged up her skirt - and promptly jumped up in surprise. ‘She isn't wearing any drawers, grandfather!' I exclaimed.

‘Neither is mine,' he replied. ‘What a shameless pair of hussies!'

Tutting and clucking at this impropriety he proceeded to whack them, three strokes for one then three for her sister, alternating back and forth. It was not a particularly fierce beating - in fact I had never seen my grandfather strike so gently. The strokes were by no means featherlight, I hasten to add, but fell far short of his usual scorchers. What I failed to realise at the time was that a heavy object such as a barrel stave possesses considerable momentum and the pain it causes seems out of all proportion to the force used. Even so, considering the twins' intractable natures, I had expected something far harsher.

If the Bailey girls thought their treatment lenient, they didn't show it. They shrieked and cursed, struggling wildly but in vain to free themselves, while I sat cross-legged on the floor and enjoyed the show. The relative gentleness of their punishment was offset by its duration: my grandfather's strength and stamina belied his years and he could keep this up till the cows came home. The beating went on for a very long time, but finally he stopped and took a step back. Much of the spirit seemed to have gone out of the two miscreants. Moans and groans had replaced curses and they no longer fought to get free, rather they lay there, writhing feebly in an attempt - equally futile - to ease their burning bottoms.

‘That's it, Jamie,' my grandfather said. ‘They'll have to stay like that for the night. We daren't risk untying ‘em, for they'd be sure to make a run for it. We'll come back in the morning and see how they're doing. Sessions like this, morning and evening, ought to do the trick. It might take a fortnight or more, for they've got spirit these two, and wenches with spirit take longer to break.'

I began to see the light: this had been just the first in a whole series of spankings. My grandfather was planning to wear them down gradually, crushing their unruly spirit little by little over a period of time with a number of moderate beatings, as opposed to a single hard one.