There…” The cowhide curled, cracking across his buttocks. “Douse that brush proper and get scrubbing.” Malcolm splashed it – and his face – into the strong, hot suds and lowered his head to the ground. The dirt on the long untended flagstones turned to mud under his nose as he scrubbed with lunging shoulders, biting the brush handle which made a lip-stretching bit in his mouth. Sada kept the thong end of her lash draped over his back, and, from time to time, laid it with a stinging crack across his upended rump. “You’ll scrub harder, you lout!” she bawled in her most intimidating growl. “Lets see you put some back and jawbone grease into that.” Malcolm, eyes streaming from the harsh suds and the brush wobbling in his teeth, felt her bootfoot on his neck jammed the brush on the flagging and the handle, chokingly, up into his mouth. The tiny, sharp-edged steel heeltip dug into his flesh and he shuddered as it pricked through his skin. Sada exerted rhythmic pressure with her long gorgeous leg, thrusting his head down and forward, giving helpful, albeit punitive, momentum to his scrubbing.
Cressada slid her bootfoot off Malcolm’s back when young Margery came sauntering on to the terrace. “Lawdy me!” caroled Malcolm’s pretty niece. “You’re surely making this clean-up day around the old homestead, Aunt. I’ve just come from the stable – your Governess has dear Langdon there now, and hard at it on all fours. Seeing him sweat – after that caning job you did on him this morning – was so delicious I could scarcely tear myself away. Y’know,” she chortled, “I had to resist an urge to get astride the big goof…so’s see what kind of horse he’d make me.”
Originally posted 2014-08-11 15:23:22.