Read Online Their Master's Pleasure by B. A. Bradbury - Free Book Online

for seeing into the soul of corrupt, wicked Uncle James and knowing what would titillate him.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜I do recall it now,’ I said. ‘But where do the dice fit in?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜This is the part you invented, I take it?’
    â€˜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?’
    â€˜The bounder.’
    â€˜He certainly is. He reminds me of someone, in fact.’
    I didn’t rise to the bait. ‘So why “Ursula’s Tears”?’
    â€˜Because the poor girl cried herself to sleep each night.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜A... jug, did you say?’ I asked, wondering if I’d heard correctly.
    â€˜A quart jug, yes. We need enough to fill all six champagne flutes, though I hope and