The Captain (3)

She stood, naked but for her boots.

She was glowing now, filled with the conviction that she had been right to come; judging by the look of shock on His face, he was glad she had, too.

He loved her chest, she knew. She took a surreptitious breath, pulling in her round belly and lifting them higher. She tried to not be too obvious about leaning just a bit from the waist, presenting him with an eyeful of tit.

She smiled.

He stared in amazement. If she was throwing her tits out to him in an attempt to avoid punishment, it wouldn’t work. He didn’t mind the vision of her tits, hanging like ripe fruit ready to be plucked. But they too would see their fair share of the beating her wayward ass was promised.

“I believe I told you to turn around and put your face on the bed. Present your unbelievably stupid ass to me, slut.”

Her mouth opened in a shocked O. She’d been so certain that it was pleasure on his face.

“Oh, make no mistake, I’ll have my share of fun with those,” and he flicked a finger against the nearest nipple. “But not now. Not until you receive your punishment. That was …” He stopped. He hated repeating himself.

He still shuddered inside with the potential for disaster that had been avoided here tonight. He walked across his cabin and opened the door to his wardrobe.  On the inside, against the back wall were special hooks that held two long poles. One was a fishing pole. The other was a whippy rod that she absolutely loathed. To the casual eye it looked like an unfitted fishing rod. But it wasn’t.  It was the primary tool he used as a punishment rod;  it offered a stinging whap that left a lovely welt and a thin strip of bruise that lingered for days. He kept one on board, and one at home.

He placed the rod beside her on the bed. She closed her eyes and let a soft nooooo escape her lips. He went to the dresser. Every drawer was fitted with an anti-slide device, which he toggled to open.

The top drawer contained His toiletries, each with its own place to prevent rolling when they were out on the Lake. Nothing worse than coming back to the cabin at the end of a long shift and discovering that your aftershave had fallen over, glass broken, and your room reeking of it. He’d had this cabinet specially fitted to avoid that. Reaching inside, he retrieved her second most hated object, the hairbrush.

A wave of lust tingled through him, although he didn’t confuse punishment with sexplay. Still, her round, pale bottom waited for His touch, and to deny that excitement would also be false.  He’d waited until He calmed a bit. Hitting your wife/slut in anger didn’t teach a thing.

Calmer, he crossed to her. Lifting her head by her hair, he twirled the brush in his palm.

“I wonder,” he mused aloud, “which side of the brush should be used tonight.”

She whimpered. A satisfactory response.
“You could have been killed out there, Jenna. I can’t have you putting yourself in such dire circumstances because you missed me. I’d miss you a hell of a lot more if my boat turned you into goo.”

She had the grace to blanch, then flush.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

Progress, at least. She knew enough to apologize without making any more reasons for her choice.

He spun the brush, and sitting fully upright,  applied a solid smack to the center of her ass. She hated when he hit her along the crack, she always bruised wonderfully deeply here. His hand held her neck to the bed, His leg went over hers to lock her in place, as he set to work tenderizing her bottom.

She was doing more than whimpering when he was through. The last 5 strokes, he reversed the brush and smacked, spines side down, on her glowing posterior.

She shrieked.

“Cheer up, slut. The punishment is more than half-over now.”

She half raised, then slumped down.

“Please Master…”

He lifted the rod to her face.

“Kiss it.”

Oh, no, she would not. She turned her head away. “I hate it” she mumbled through sealed lips.

“KISS IT” he growled at her. Again she refused, and before she knew it, He’d flipped her onto her back and slapped her tits with it.

“I’m gonna hit the girls until you kiss it, and tell it that you’re sorry.”

Each blow hit both tits nearly simultaneously. She writhed. She moaned. When he hit both nipples, she shrieked again.


Another scream came as he hit the same spot again. She knew she’d best do her part or he’d hit that spot again. And three whaps with the whip on her nipples was more than she thought she could bear. They burned and throbbed as if they’d been bitten.


He hit her nipples again, and she cried out, almost retching with the pain in her tits. She was afraid to look down, certain that she’d see her nipples bleeding.

He lifted the rod to her lips and she kissed.

“Again, I think.”

Her eyes rose to his, water-y blue lakes of misery. Yet she kissed it again. Looking down she could see criss-crosses, like cross-stitches, along her tits. Her nipples were erect and painfully red, but there was no blood. He knew how to hit, that was the truth.

In seconds she was on her belly, her abused tits rubbing against the wool of his bunkcover.  She heard the sound of it in the air and yet was unprepared for the pain of the blows as they fell across her already red and painful ass.

Her tears wet the blanket as she succumbed to his punishment.

She would never make this mistake again.


He heard her sniffling snuffles, but it didn’t soften him. The chastisement was necessary. She had to understand that he would not tolerate her harming herself, and not be so fucking impetuous!

Yet his hand smoothed over the hot skin of her bottom. Rather than the smooth canvas it had started as, it was welted now, ridged and swollen from his spanking.

It was red as sunset after a storm, and there were lines of bruises already forming.

He pinched her along her crack with his fingernails, making her arch up.

“See? You still have feeling back here,” He said to her.

“Bastard” she said, her voice muffled by his mattress.

“I am a Bastard. But I’m your Bastard, you lucky slut. Now, roll over here. I’m wanting to fuck my slut since she went to so much effort to bring her cunt to me.”

She shivered at the changed timbre of his voice.

Perhaps it was worth the brutal punishment after all.