(Continued from River Life)
“You should do it, then.” She said her voice tight in her throat.
She wasn’t sure he had heard her-as as he’d become keenly interested in the river flowing outside the window.
“Probably best you go ashore.”
“James-please”. She gripped his arm. “Don’t put me ashore-I need this job. I need this-out here”, she moved her arms to take in the river and overhanging trees that, even October’s gray light were enchanting. She could breathe out here in a way she couldn’t in the closed world of quiet desperation ashore. “I’ve been doing well. I have. I’m…afraid what will become of me in town without this.”
“This employment comes with conditions, Emmaline.”
“I know. I understand. And I must be punished…. Please….”
She unsnapped the canvas coveralls that she wore over her clothes on foul days. Still facing the flowing water he heard, rather than saw, her coveralls slide down.
“Just do it James…Please…”
He gave her nothing.
“Beat me and let me stay…” her voice was a whisper.
He turned to look into her glistening and pleading eyes. He pulled away from her grip and nodded to the pile of coveralls. “Step out of those”. She tore off her boots and high stepped a march to extricate herself. “Stand there”, he told her, “facing the table.”
She was finally sure that she wouldn’t be put ashore. He was going to punish her here. “Oh thank you, James.”
“You might want to hold onto those thanks…”
Her shirt was overlong, covering her seat. “Take off your shirt.” She did so quickly and tossed it onto his chair. Her undershirt barely reached her waist.
“You won’t regret this James…”
“You might”, he answered. “Take down your pants.” She didn’t hesitate as the temperature in the pilot house rose. James saw her jeans loosen and she pushed them down. Without prompting she followed with her panties, undressing efficiently and immodestly as if she were alone in her bunk. The view of her bottom-voluptuous and glowing alabaster in the gray light gave James pause, if only for a moment.
“Put your hands against the window sill”. Doing as she was told, she had to lean over the table pushing her bottom backward.
With her back, as well as everything else, to him she focused on the thick trunk of the sycamore outside the shoreward window. The first flush of relief at not being fired and put ignominiously ashore faded to be replaced by trepidation and an anticipation she couldn’t quite understand.
She heard the slithering rasp of his belt being pulled through the loops on his trousers and felt something…else. She dipped her back pushing her bottom imperceptibly backward. Seeing the movement James almost groaned. He struggled to keep himself contained suddenly desiring nothing so much as to drop to his knees and lavish her back-thrust bottom with kisses. He snapped the stout leather in his hands to come back to himself.
She expected pain-how could she not?-but even so, the searing burn of the first slash across the very center of her buttocks surprised her. She didn’t move-not even a flinch-but when the second stroke fell equally upon her lower bottom and tops of her legs, her mouth fell open and remained so albeit silently for the next three strokes which burned across her tortured cheeks. The sixth elicited a choking cough, quickly silenced and the seventh a small hop as she rose onto her toes. He lashed her while she remained thus elevated, her bottom tightened by the exercise.
Once she fell back onto her heels her bottom, now coloring, softened. His belt dug into the softness, drawing a yelp. Realizing he’d been holding his breath he paused in his labors.
“I’m quit with drinking on your boat James”, Emmaline told him maintaining her position.
“Don’t make promises you have no intention of keeping.” His punctuation was a lash on the last unmarked spot high on her bottom that snapped around her hip. She gasped and allowed a moan to fill the room. He then directed the strap lower, completing his task of turning bright white to pink, pink to red and in a few spots, red to purple where the blood came close to the top.
“I mean it James….”
“Mean it or not, but know that this will be your punishment when you do. Or whenever I judge you wanting in any way. Do you understand?”
They were silent with no sound but their quick shallow breaths.
“Please James….” she said finally.
“You’re finished”, he said. “Well punished, well marked.”
“That’s not what I meant”, she said looking, flushed but dry-eyed, over her shoulder. “That is not what I meant at all.”
“Are you going to tell me you’ve never thought of having me like this?”
“We’ve established you’re a woman-so of course.”
“Then do what you will. Be assured I want it more than you do.”
He felt the ache in his own spar as it pushed against the canvas of his trousers and wondered how that might be possible.
The strap had slipped out of his hand as he slid closer and lay his rough hands on the mottled skin of her bottom. Emmie gasped as if burned. His hands slid gently up and down and squeezed softly.
“My God James-you must get inside me. I didn’t drop a tear in your strapping but will cry like a hungry baby if your cock isn’t in me soon.”
He removed his hand from her only long enough to unfasten his trousers which fell to the floor. He stepped out of them and closer, leaning against her heat-allowing his cock to rub against her backside, up one cheek and down the other. Outside her left cheek along her right hip. He let it pulse between her legs-sniffing at the inside of her thighs like a serpent probing a rock face for a crevasse.
Her moan at his serpent’s touch was deep and rumbling. “You are a torturer.”
In truth, it was less about torture as it was about exploration-finding his way along what he’d feared were long forgotten paths. But once on the right trail, the path toward her shining beacon was made straight. She pushed back and opened-James slid slowly into her glistening offering. He had expected some resistance but slipped easily and fully into a lambskin change purse brimming with the syrup of distilled morning dew.
Fully sheathed he ground his hips into the heat of her seared bottom.
“Oh, James….I’ve wanted you to fuck me for….”
Her voice caught as he pulled out as far as he could and still remain in, then rammed home deeply again, with more force than before.
“Yes!” she barked.
He looked down to see his shaft sliding in and back out, in and back out-slowly, then hard. Slow. Then. Hard. She grunted at the building strength of his strokes.
“Slap me James!” she said breathless. “Slap my ass!” she twisted sideways giving him, what she imagined to be a getter target. He slapped her tortured right cheek as best he could without breaking the slow rhythm of his deep thrusts.
“Faster James! Faster…” Knowing she didn’t mean spanking, he gripped both hips and thrust harder and faster the slapping of hip on hip now louder than hand on ass.
“James! James!…” Feeling her pitch rising, James rose on his toes and worked quickly until she stiffened, shuddered and finally broke. Her voice morphed into a high squeal muffled only when she dug her teeth into her own shoulder. He stayed inside her, still engorged as she twitched and mewled finally pulling out as she collapsed from the window sill to lay spread across the table.
“Does this mean I’m not fired?” she asked when she gathered her breath.
His answer was a hard slap to the center of her red fulsome bottom. She neither yelped nor moved, and facing as she was, James couldn’t see the smile play over her face.
“That means you’re not fired.”
He pulled her up from the table and hugged her from behind. She felt the strength of his unspent cock digging at her bottom.
“Let’s go to my bunk”, he said prodding her forward.
“Yes, Captain”, she said.