Their Master's Pleasure by B. A. Bradbury

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    It soon became clear that the prospect of further punishment held little appeal for the twins. ‘Oh, sir,’ one of them cried, ‘we don’t want any more! We’ve learned our lesson good and proper, haven’t we, Peg?’
    â€˜Indeed we have, sir,’ the other chipped in. ‘You’ll not hear another peep from us, we promise faithful.’
    My grandfather chuckled. ‘Listen to the pair of ‘em, Jamie-boy. Little angels, and all after one gentle spanking. It’s a miracle, that’s what it is.’
    He took up the barrel stave once more and proceeded to give them another dozen apiece, which soon had them moaning and groaning all over again. Then, still chuckling, he put his arm around my shoulder and steered me towards the door.
    â€˜Shouldn’t we cover them up, sir?’ I asked as we went out, thinking it was rude to lay like that with your bottom on show for anyone to see.
    â€˜I think they’re happier as they are,’ he said, ‘with their bums hanging out in the cool breeze. And if the stable lads should happen by and find the sight just too tempting to resist... well, that’s a risk they’ll have to take. No one asked ‘em to be bad girls, did they?’
    Back in my room I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of the two girls, tied up and helpless, and