Their Master's Pleasure by B. A. Bradbury Page A

eventually I crept down the stairs and out across the courtyard to the stables. The Bailey twins were still there and they were alone. I knew they weren’t asleep, however, as from time to time one or the other would utter a soft groan.
    As a special treat the grooms sometimes let me feed and water the horses. It occurred to me that the girls might also be thirsty - they’d been there for hours and hours with no one looking after them, so far as I knew. I went closer and the nearest one turned her head and looked at me. ‘Are you thirsty?’ I asked. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’
    â€˜God bless, young master,’ she said, ‘we would that!’
    I filled a ladle at the water butt and squatted down to hold it to each of their lips in turn. They drank greedily and it took two more trips before they’d had their fill. I thought I should go back to the house then, but first I went around behind to see how their rear ends were faring.
    â€˜Your bottoms are very red,’ I said. ‘I expect they’re still hot, are they?’
    â€˜Like lookin’ at our bums do you, Jamie-boy?’ one asked, having obviously picked up on my grandfather’s pet name for me.
    â€˜Yes,’ I said solemnly, ‘they’re very nice. Nell has a nice bottom too. Hers is sometimes even redder than yours, when she’s been very naughty.’
    â€˜Untie us,’ the Bailey girl said, ‘and we’ll show you somethin’ even nicer, won’t we, Het?’
    â€˜We will that,’ her sister said. ‘We’ll show you our furry kittens. You can even stroke ‘em if you want. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜All the lads like strokin’ our pussies,’ the first one said, and the two of them laughed.
    I thought I would like to see their kittens, but remembered my grandfather saying the girls were to stay tied up all night. I could never go against his word. ‘I’ve got to go back now,’ I said.
    They called after me, laughing, saying something about their pussies. As I crossed the yard to the house the mocking laughter followed me.
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Chapter 11
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    â€˜Severe, certainly,’ I said to Freddie, ‘but we also have to be fair. By that I mean we can’t afford to show any favouritism. Definitely you mustn’t show any - we don’t want another war breaking out, do we? Whatever you do to Molly, you have to repeat it exactly with Mary and vice versa.’
    My godson nodded glumly, clearly holding himself partially responsible for the quarrel and subsequent brawl and feeling guilty in consequence. I thought he was being rather hard on himself, personally, but said nothing. Resolving one’s doubts about oneself is an important part of growing up.
    â€˜But most definitely severe,’ I said. ‘I intend this to be a punishment they’ll remember the rest of their lives.’
    â€˜How many strokes, sir, have you decided?’
    â€˜Not exactly. I thought we might leave it open-ended. You know - just keep going till we feel it’s enough.’
    My grandfather had occasionally handed out such a punishment, which in many ways was harder on the penitent than the more usual sort with a fixed number of strokes. With no finishing line in sight, the session could seem interminable.
    â€˜When I say “severe”,’ I added as an afterthought, ‘I’m speaking in layman’s terms, of course. Are you familiar with the usual flogger definitions, Freddie?’
    â€˜I don’t believe I am, sir.’
    I explained it to him, as my grandfather had explained it to me many years before. I told him a hard stroke is generally accepted as one that tests to the utmost limit the victim’s resolve to hold her position. With a severe stroke, she would find it impossible to do so and some form of restraint would be required - ropes, straps and suchlike, or else a third party