Their Master's Pleasure (7 page)

I was referring to her arrangement with me, whereby I had agreed to desist from molesting my youngest ward in exchange for Elizabeth's participation in a humiliation of her own devising - the truly memorable Rectal Recital. I was taking something of a risk making such a suggestion, for if she talked to Freddie before I had a chance to explain things she would soon learn the truth of it.

It soon became clear I had little to fear, for Elizabeth had no intention of talking to Freddie about this. ‘I couldn't,' she said, colouring more deeply than ever. ‘It's out of the question.'

‘So why not talk to Cathy instead?'

‘I've already tried. She won't listen to advice; she thinks she knows it all.'

Elizabeth certainly had a problem and it seemed I was her only hope. Everything was falling into place beautifully, in fact. All I had to do now was deliver the
coup de grace
. ‘Very well,' I said, ‘I'll speak with Freddie. I'm sure I can get him to toe the line.'

‘Thank you, uncle.' There was a note of circumspection in her voice, as if she knew what was coming next. As I said, my eldest ward was a most astute young woman.

‘Naturally,' I added, ‘there will be a price.'

She nodded slowly and her mouth turned down. ‘Naturally.'

Perhaps she was expecting a repeat performance of Rectal Recital, and I was certainly tempted - the thought of Elizabeth, naked and quivering, playing the piano whilst perched on my lap with my cock up her bum was delightful indeed - but why make do with a repeat when I could have something altogether new?

‘These are my terms,' I said. ‘I want you to devise three games, from which I shall pick the best. They must be sexual in nature, obviously, and must possess a spanking element. Is this acceptable to you?'

Though she sighed and afforded me a most unhappy look, her answer was entirely predictable.

‘Excellent,' I said. ‘Do you need to borrow
The Book of Earthly Pleasures
again to spark some ideas, or
The Diary of a Slave - Ursula's Story
?'

‘Hardly,' she said with a shudder. ‘The words and images are burned indelibly into my memory, to my eternal shame.'

‘In that case I shall return to my painting in the hope that your endeavours will be equally creative. Good luck!'

 

Early that evening she came to see me in the study.

‘Elizabeth, my dear,' I said, ‘you never cease to amaze me. Two hours to invent three new games must surely be a record. I take it you do
have
the games?'

‘Indeed,' she said. ‘I even remembered to give them names.'

I settled back in my chair and prepared to be both amazed and delighted, for though Elizabeth was an innocent at heart, she possessed a remarkable talent for seeing into the soul of corrupt, wicked Uncle James and knowing what would titillate him.

‘All three games involve an element of chance,' she explained. ‘I thought I should add a little novelty value to keep you from becoming bored, uncle.'

If the sarcasm was intended to annoy me she was wasting her time, for I merely smiled and indicated that she should continue.

‘Certain accessories will be required, but nothing that should strain your resources unduly. As to the games themselves, I have to confess the first one isn't truly my own - I borrowed the idea from
The Diary of a Slave
. It was something that was done to Ursula, though I've made some slight modifications. I'm calling it Ursula's Tears in her honour. For this game we'll need a pair of dice and a chafer like the one she was made to wear. You do remember that particular episode in
The Diary of a Slave
, uncle?'

I was forced to confess that I didn't, as it was many years since I'd read that particular book. Elizabeth explained that the chafer in question consisted of a broad leather belt, buckled at the side, with rings attached front and back. A length of coarse, hairy rope was fastened to the front ring then passed down between the legs and up at the back, where it was pulled tight before being fastened to the rear ring. As might be expected, the whole thing was worn under the clothes, next to the skin.

‘I do recall it now,' I said. ‘But where do the dice fit in?'

‘I was just coming to that. I roll both dice and we total up the score: somewhere between two and twelve. I will then wear the chafer for an equivalent number of hours. At the end of each hour I will receive six strokes of the cane - still wearing the chafer, naturally.'

‘This is the part you invented, I take it?'

‘The caning, yes; and rolling the dice to determine the duration. Ursula was obliged to wear hers for a whole week. She ate in it and slept in it, visited friends in it and wore it to church. Wicked Sir Reginald even made her go riding in it, didn't he?'

‘The bounder.'

‘He certainly is. He reminds me of someone, in fact.'

I didn't rise to the bait. ‘So why “Ursula's Tears”?'

‘Because the poor girl cried herself to sleep each night.'

‘I see. A thoroughly appropriate title, then, and a most excellent game; though I do wonder why you changed it the way you did. The thought of you having to wear a chafer for a week is most appealing.'

She shook her head. ‘That's unrealistic, isn't it? It's fiction, so it doesn't have to be real. The author made it up - there never was an Ursula.'

‘No Ursula?' I said. ‘My dear, I'm shocked! You'll be telling me next there's no Father Christmas.'

She rolled her eyes and passed quickly on to the second game. ‘I'm calling this My Cup Runneth Over, since it's based on a certain sexual practice that is particularly repulsive to me. Do you know what that is?'

A tricky question, for the possibilities were manifold. Elizabeth claimed to find
all
sexual acts repulsive, but I tried to think which ones she found especially loathsome. Anal intercourse had to figure high on the list - which was why the Rectal Recital was such a trial for her - and she also hated fellatio, or so she declared. Then I thought about the title she had chosen and believed I had the answer. ‘Having to swallow semen?'

She gave a grim little smile. ‘Well done, uncle. Trust you to know what revolts and shames me the most. For this game we'll need six glasses - champagne flutes would be ideal - and a quart jug of semen.'

‘A... jug, did you say?' I asked, wondering if I'd heard correctly.

‘A quart jug, yes. We need enough to fill all six champagne flutes, though I hope and pray it doesn't come to that. I'm sure you've already guessed what the game entails - I roll just a single die this time to give a score between one and six, you pour out that many glasses of semen, then I drink them down. Should I fail to complete the task, you will give me a dozen strokes of the cane for each glass I am unable to drain completely.'

The problem was immediately clear to me, but for the moment I put it to the back of my mind. I pictured Elizabeth sitting at the dining room table with a row of champagne flutes in front of her - flutes filled to the brim with cold, sour semen. I could almost see her face as she raised that first glass... lifting it reluctantly to her lips... tipping it back. I could imagine the horror and revulsion that would sweep across her face as she gulped down the thick slime.

This happy image dissolved as reality intruded and I sighed, shaking my head ruefully. ‘And just where, precisely, were you thinking we might obtain a quart of semen?'

‘Well...' she said, looking somewhat perplexed, ‘from you, uncle.'

‘From
me
? Are you serious?'

‘Perfectly serious. Why, is there a problem?'

I suppose some men might be flattered she thought them capable of filling a quart jug at short notice, but not me. This was no vote of confidence in my virility, rather a demonstration of her total ignorance of male potency.

‘My dearest Elizabeth,' I said, ‘I am a mere mortal. It would take me months to fill a quart jug - many, many months, I suspect. I wasn't planning on waiting
quite
so long to play this new game of yours, to be frank.'

‘Oh,' she said, somewhat nonplussed, ‘I see. But... couldn't you enlist the help of the other men here? Surely together you could manage it?'

These ‘other men' comprised one hall-boy, one stable boy, one groom and one gardener, the latter pair so elderly and decrepit we'd be lucky to get a thimbleful a week apiece. Again I shook my head. ‘Not even then, I'm afraid. We would need many more men, dozens in fact, to collect the amount you're talking about in a reasonable timescale.'

She frowned and I could see she was thinking furiously. Clearly she wasn't about to give up on this, for Elizabeth was nothing if not tenacious. Then her face cleared. ‘But it's so simple! There
are
dozens, little more than a mile from here. I'm sure all the men in the village would be willing to contribute - certainly they would if you gave them a copper or two each for their trouble.'

Now I was the one shuddering in horror as I imagined the diseases and pestilence that lot must carry between them. The risk to Elizabeth's health from such a scheme was simply too awful to contemplate and I shook my head sadly. ‘I'm sorry, my dear. It's a most tempting idea, but I'm afraid I have to reject it. As dearly as I would love to play My Cup Runneth Over with you, it's simply not feasible.'

‘Very well,' she said dejectedly. ‘If that's your decision, then of course I must abide by it. I see now that I should have prepared an extra game for just such a situation as this, but it never occurred to me you might reject one. I shall need a little more time, I'm afraid, to come up with a replacement.'

‘That may not be necessary,' I said. ‘Let's hear the third before we decide anything.'

‘As you wish, uncle. The final game is called Ride-a-Cock-Horse. For this we shall need two phalluses, again just a single die, and Dobbin.'

‘Who or what in God's name is Dobbin?'

‘My old rocking horse in the nursery. His paint's a bit chipped in places and he's lost most of his mane and tail, but he's still in good working order. The stirrups will have to be lengthened, but I can see to that. Dobbin will need raising up off the floor too, on a platform or suchlike. A carpenter shouldn't find it too difficult a task, I wouldn't think.'

I suspected Elizabeth knew even less about carpentry than I did, but I let it pass.

‘It's a simple enough game,' she went on. ‘You put the phalluses inside me, front and back, then I ride Dobbin for anywhere between one and six hours, depending on the number I roll on the die. During that period you will give me two dozen strokes with my riding crop, spaced out or all together, entirely at your discretion.'

‘These phalluses - how big did you envisage them being?'

‘Well... big enough to stretch me without splitting me in two.'

I had a box of dildoes in my room, acquired over the years from various sources, but Elizabeth deserved better than that. ‘Custom-made, then,' I said. ‘You'll want me to acquire them, I assume?'

She gave me a long look before answering. ‘Can I
trust
you to arrange that side of it, uncle, if you decide on this game?'

‘But of course!' I said with mock indignation. ‘What do you take me for - the sort of cruel fellow who would deliberately purchase a pair of monstrosities just to see a beautiful young woman in agony?'

‘Heaven forbid,' she muttered.

Thinking about her games, I had to admit she'd done it again. All three appealed to me enormously and I was saddened at having to reject My Cup Runneth Over for that one fatal flaw. Ursula's Tears and Ride-a-Cock-Horse were perfectly viable, however, and no less entertaining. We would play the game of my choice just as soon as it could be arranged, keeping the second for later in the year. I felt confident I could contrive some incident or other to justify it, though if I wished Elizabeth to remain ignorant of my scheming, I would need to be at my devious best. (It wasn't
essential
she remain ignorant, you understand, but fooling one's victim in this way always adds a certain spice to the proceedings). Certainly, it wouldn't be easy - but James Montague was never one to refuse a challenge!

‘So, uncle,' Elizabeth said, ‘do I need to come up with a replacement for My Cup Runneth Over, or does one of the others take your fancy?'

‘Oh, there'll be no further demands on your imagination, Elizabeth, for the time being at least. Before I give you my decision, however, I need to make a few things clear. First, I shall choose the time and place for your performance. Second, I reserve the right to make a few minor changes once we've obtained the necessary ‘accessories', as you called them. I'm not trying to cheat you, Elizabeth, but things don't always turn out exactly as planned, so we need to be a little flexible in that regard. Third, and most important of all, my godson Freddie will be present.'