Tuesday, 1 March 2011

Pirate's Bride - Short story by Philip Kemp

I’m giving you another free short story (my goodness I’m so kind to you all) This one though is not one of mine but written by Philip Kemp who kindly allowed me to re-produce it here. Philip is a freelance writer; his day job is writing about cinema, but when vanilla commitments allow he also writes spanking stories. This story, ‘The Pirate’s Bride’, comes from his first collection published in paperback, “Blushing at Both Ends.”

Cinema buffs amongst you will remember the sort of swashbuckling adventure films produced in the forties and fifties with lusty busty wenches having set to’s with dashing pirates. So often it seemed that what it needed was for the feisty brat to be thrown over his knee and soundly spanked. Well in this story, that’s just what happens.

And how should a young pretty girl show her appreciation for being given a long overdue lesson like that? Read it and find out!

The Pirate’s Bride by Philip Kemp

"But my dear," said Lady Pamela, in what she hoped were tones of persuasive reason, "at least meet the young man. Surely there can be no harm in that?" Her daughter gave a heavily theatrical sigh.

"Mama, how many times must I tell you? I have already met him. Five years ago, at Lady Porchester's ball in Berkeley Square. A pasty-faced, tongue-tied youth of no distinction whatsoever. I thought little of him then, and have no desire to meet him again now."

"But five years is a long time, my dear. During that interval, may the young man not have changed a good deal for the better?"

"Indeed -- or for the worse. You tell me he has become an excellent businessman, and has transformed the fortunes of his father's sugar plantations here on the island. Most impressive, I'm sure. But Mama, if I wished to die of boredom, no doubt there are quicker ways of doing so than by marrying 'an excellent businessman'."

Lady Pamela cast her eyes to the heavens. "Isabel, I declare I sometimes despair of you. John, help me, for pity's sake! Can you do nothing to persuade your daughter?"Lord Abercrombie turned reluctantly away from the window, where he had been contemplating the lush Barbadian scenery and the azure sea that lay beyond. In truth, he was a little in awe of his fiery-natured daughter, and rarely tried to oppose her wishes. Contemplating her now, her dark-haired beauty enhanced by the flush on her cheek and the sparkle of indignation in her eye, and mentally contrasting his own pale, sandy-haired looks, he wondered, not for the first time, how he could have sired such a girl. Indeed there had been rumours: Lady Pamela in her youth was not averse to the pleasures of Regency London, and a certain Castilian grandee from the Spanish Embassy had been much in her company.... Still, why waste time on such fruitless musings?

"Come, my dear," he murmured soothingly, "is it so much to ask that you meet this young man for an hour or so at dinner? And you know, if by chance you like him, it could be a most advantageous match for you."

"For me!" Lady Isabel laughed scornfully. "Father, let's at least be candid with each other. You choose to gamble and fritter away our family inheritance, and now you hope that an alliance with a rich trader of the Indies may restore your fortunes -- or at least stake you again at the gaming-tables. Advantageous, you say? I don't doubt it!"

"Isabel!" protested her mother. "How can you speak so disrespectfully to your father? For shame!"

"Mother," retorted the young woman, "had my father wished me to honour him with the deference due from a daughter, he might have bestowed on me a little more of the care and affection expected of a father. It's a trifle late now to establish conventional family ties. Besides, might I remind you that you brought me out here -- both of you -- under deceitful false pretences? This journey, you told me, was intended to restore my father's health. Now it transpires that your true aim was to barter your only child for a bag of gold." Anger and contempt flashed from her eyes. "And you dare ask respect of me?"

With these words Lady Isabel flung from the room, leaving her parents to gaze at each other in dismay. Eventually Lord John shrugged helplessly. "We are expected at dinner, m'dear. We'd better go, and give the Trevelyans what excuse we may for Isabel's absence. A touch of tropica1 fever, perhaps?"But news travels fast in the Caribbean. Long before Lord and Lady Abercrombie, graciously apologetic, had presented themselves at their hosts' dining-table, sharp-eared and quick-tongued Barbadian servants had conveyed from one household to the other -- not without much laughter -- the true reasons for Lady Isabel's non-appearance....

Three days later, that headstrong young lady was strolling on the beach below the villa her parents had leased. The beach, a perfect crescent of pristine white sand fringed with palm trees and lapped by gentle blue waves, offered irresistible appeal to her romantic nature, and she had taken to walking there early each morning before the day grew too hot. It was a lovely spot, and she found herself thinking that, all told, there might be many worse places to live. Only not -- she shuddered -- as the wife of some sugar-growing commerçant, a dullard preoccupied with yields and harvests and market prices. No, what the wild beauty of the island suggested to her was a companion altogether more dashing, more spirited -- a man whose bold nature would relish meeting the challenge of a woman worthy of his mettle....Lost in her reverie, she unconsciously rounded the small headland of the bay, only to pause at an unexpected sight.

There in the next cove a ship lay at anchor: an old-fashioned square-rigged galleon, all but motionless on the calm sea. And nearer at hand, drawn up on the shore, a longboat with its oars berthed.

With instinctive caution, Isabel turned to retreat. But before she could retrace a single step, a voice spoke behind her. "Well, here's a pretty surprise for a fine morning. Where did you spring from, my beauty?''

Isabel swung round. Five paces away a man was reclining on a rock, smiling lazily at her. His skin was brown and his hair was long and tousled; he was bearded and a golden earring hung from his left ear-lobe. Though he was young -- scarcely older, Isabel guessed, than herself -- there was an air of authority about him that belied his casual, even ragged, attire and his bare feet. He was, she acknowledged with an involuntary tremor, very handsome, but at the same time there was something dangerous about him. Strangely, Isabel found herself recalling a puma she had once seen at the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park. Though this man's body was utterly relaxed, it was as though he might pounce at any moment.Yet more puzzling to Isabel was an odd feeling that his face was somehow familiar, though just why she was unable to recall. "Have -- have we met?" she asked absurdly, for all the world as if they were conversing in some genteel Mayfair drawing-room. The man smiled all the more broadly. "Now is that likely?" he asked. "You, a fine young lady from London, and I -- well," with a gesture he indicated his tattered shirt and breeches, "as you see me."

"How do you know I'm from London?"

"Oh, my lady, this is a small island, and word gets around. Especially to someone like me, who make it my affair to know things. So yes, I know who you are, Lady Isabel, and who has brought you here -- and why."

"Well, in that case," responded Isabel, her temper rising, "you will also know that it's none of your damned business! Now, if you will kindly excuse me -- " and she turned to go.The man whistled. It was a brief whistle and not loud, but within seconds half a dozen men had appeared as if from nowhere and blocked Isabel's path. "How dare you! Let me go!" she cried, and struck out with her fists, but at once she found herself held, gently but firmly, quite unable to move. "Ah, but you see," purred the voice behind her, "I intend to make it my business. And the first order of business today, my lady, is that you make a short sea voyage with me and my companions."

"No! Help!" screamed Isabel, struggling wildly, but to no avail. The largest of the men, a broad-chested, grinning bald giant of a fellow with striped jersey and red neckerchief, slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and marched off with her towards the longboat. She kicked furiously and thumped his back with her fists, but she might as well have assaulted a mountain.

After a brief ride in the longboat, Isabel was toted up a rope ladder in the same undignified style and set upright upon the galleon's deck. The boat's crew were joined by a dozen more assorted ruffians, some black, some brown, some white, but all rakishly attired and regarding her with unconcealed curiosity, while the man who had first accosted her seated himself on an upturned cask and gazed at her coolly. "Welcome, my lady, aboard our humble vessel," he remarked ironically.Isabel stared around her in mounting alarm.

"You're -- you're pirates!" she gasped.

"Pirates? Oh come, Lady Isabel, that's a crude, ill-favoured word. We prefer to call ourselves -- freebooters."The crew chuckled. "Aye, freebooters," they repeated, seemingly much taken with the term. Isabel drew herself up with all the haughtiness she could muster. ''Call yourselves what you will, but you had best let me go at once, before this kidnapping brings the Royal Navy about your ears! My father is a British peer, and my fiancé one of the richest men on the island."

"Your fiancé? And who might that be, pray?''

"Mr. Henry Trevelyan." The self-styled freebooter threw back his head and laughed lustily. "Mr. Henry Trevelyan, indeed? Ah, that's rich, my lady!"

"Why do you laugh, you villain?"

"Why, because first of all he's not your fiancé. How can he be, when you refuse so much as to meet him? Second, because that poor milksop is my father's son."Isabel stared. "You lie! Henry Trevelyan has no brother.""Oh, not officially, perhaps. But as you must know, Lady Isabel, these things may happen in the most respectable of families. Wrong side o'the blanket I may be, but a Trevelyan nonetheless." Rising, he swept her a low bow. "Charles Trevelyan Esquire, my lady, at your service."

He settled himself back on the cask. "Which brings us handily to the second order of business. You were brought to Barbados, Lady Isabel, to marry a scion of the Trevelyan family. And so you shall. Me."

"You presumptuous wretch!” Isabel's eyes flashed fury; she stepped forward and dealt him a ringing slap across the face. "I marry a bastard! How dare you?"

Several of the crew started forward, but Charles waved them back. Rubbing his injured cheek, he grinned wolfishly at Isabel. "Bastard maybe, my girl, but even bastards don't take kindly to being struck. I would strongly advise you not to do that again."

"I scorn your threats," stated Isabel proudly. "As for marrying you, I'd die first!"

“Oh, I doubt that will be necessary. I'm sure you'll find marriage a preferable alternative. You see, I've made all due respectable provision." He gestured, and a trembling clergyman was pushed forward from among the crew. "A genuine pastor, I assure you. We abducted him only last night. I hope, Sir, your congregation will not be too discommoded by your absence."

"Were he the Bishop himself, I should still refuse!" stormed Isabel."As you wish, my lady. I merely thought that, as a well brought-up girl of good family, you would prefer the more honourable option. But believe me, my beauty, when I tell you that, with or without benefit of clergy, you shall grace my bed tonight."

"Why, you unspeakable blackguard!" This time, the slap was even harder. It was followed by a deathly hush. Isabel, seeing the look in Charles's eyes, backed away as he rose and advanced purposefully upon her."You wouldn't hit a woman!" she pleaded, raising a protective hand to her face.Charles smiled. "Oh, I shan't smack your face, my lady. It's much too pretty for that. But you must learn that, daughter of an English peer or no, you can't go about hitting whomsoever you wish. And Mother Nature in her wisdom has furnished, elsewhere about the female anatomy, certain sweetly rounded parts far more pleasingly shaped for smacking."

"No!" cried Isabel as she divined his meaning. She turned to flee, but felt her waist encircled by a strong arm. Before she knew what was happening, she found herself lifted bodily off the deck and deposited face-down across Charles Trevelyan's sturdy lap as he sat back down on the cask.
"You wretch! Let me go at once!" she cried, struggling wildly, but Charles had her firmly pinioned with an arm across the small of her back, while with his free hand he rucked her dress up above her waist.In that tropical clime Isabel had attired herself as lightly as was consonant with modesty. The lifting of her dress revealed that only drawers of fine white silk veiled the lush curves of her bottom. The clergyman gave an ineffectual bleat of protest, drowned by lusty roars of approval from Charles's crew.

"That's the way of it, Cap'n!"

"Warm her pretty arse for her!"

"Give it her hot and strong!"

Ignoring Isabel's cries of fury, Charles coolly stroked the soft silken mounds that lay so invitingly at his mercy. "You have a lovely bottom, my lady," he observed pleasantly, "but I'll wager it's not been spanked near as often as its shapeliness invites, nor indeed as often as the conduct of its owner deserves. A regime of sound and regular chastisement might have done much to curb that wayward temper; but I doubt your lazy wastrel of a father ever troubled to tan this spoilt young backside for you."

"Certainly not!" exclaimed Isabel indignantly. "How dare you! Let me go, you brute!"

"As I thought," returned her captor. "And doubtless no one else did, either. More's the pity. A sound spanking once a week or so, my fine lady, might have improved your manners beyond all recognition. Still, better late than never: and once we are joined in blissful matrimony, my sweet, I shall have ample occasion to make up for your father's neglect of his parental duties in this regard."

Peering over her shoulder, Isabel saw Charles raise his right arm high in the air. "No! Don't!" she yelped, reaching back to protect her vulnerable rear. But Charles merely captured her wrist in his left hand, holding it well clear of the target area, while his right hand descended hard and fast. The ringing slap echoed across the calm waters of the bay. Isabel gasped, as much from surprise as from pain. She had not lied; not since infancy had anyone physically punished her, and never would she have credited how sharply a hard male hand could sting a soft pampered female bottom.

"Oww!" she yelped angrily. "You brute! That hurt!"

"No doubt," retorted Charles calmly. "That was the intention. But believe me, my sweet, it will hurt a lot more before I'm finished. You need to be taught a lesson, my lady Isabel, and I mean to impress this one firmly upon your -- memory."

Once again his hand swept down with a resounding smack, making Isabel gasp again as he stung her other cheek. He paused a moment to let the sting sink in; then, settling to a steady rhythm, he proceeded to administer several dozen hearty spanks to Isabel's squirming rearward curves, much to the amusement and approbation of his crew.Charles too could scarce forebear to grin, such was the pleasure he experienced in spanking this lovely, wilful girl. At 22, Lady Isabel Abercrombie was at the height of her beauty, and her posterior was by no means the least of her charms. Full and superbly rounded, it seemed as if made for just such intimate chastisement; the lush mounds quivered and jounced at every smack, offering irresistible targets to his punishing palm. Beneath its silken veil the girlish flesh felt deliciously soft and sensitive, and he could tell from her yelps and kickings that his exertions were having the desired effect. Already a delicate pink tinge was making itself visible through the sheer fabric, testifying to the rosy blush burgeoning beneath.

In due course he paused, stroking the trembling globes. "Well, my lady," he asked, "have you learnt your lesson? Can we expect better behaviour of you?"

"I'll see you hanged first!" came the defiant response. "Hanged and damned, you pirate bastard!" She attempted to wriggle free, but Charles held her fast. "Evidently not," he observed calmly. "It seems this lovely bottom needs more spanking yet."

"Haul down her drawers, Cap’n," called the bald giant who had lugged Isabel aboard. "Let's see her pretty red arse."

"Shame on you, Jem," chided Charles. "This is a lady, gently-born, not one of your tavern wenches. Spanking she may deserve, but not the shame of having her virgin modesty exposed to your coarse gaze. Besides," he added, with a crisp spank to Isabel's bottom that made her yip, "I suspect these elegant drawers can be affording her hindquarters precious little protection."

He was right in that. Indeed if anything the thin silk, tight-stretched across the rounded contours of Isabel's rump, only enhanced the sting of each smack. Already her bottom felt as though it were on fire, and as Charles, taking a firmer grip on the girl's torso, resumed her punishment Isabel began to fear she would never sit down in comfort again.

At first the humiliation of finding herself so ignominiously chastised before so many lustful male eyes had seemed worse than the pain of the spanking itself. But now, as spank after merciless spank cracked down across her tender globes, she forgot her ribald audience, forgot her injured pride, as her attention focused ever more intently on the discomfort being meted out to her anguished rear end. Charles, she felt sure, was spanking her harder than ever. The sting of his hand was all but unbearable, and she found herself near to weeping.Yet at the same time she felt gripped by strangely contradictory instincts. There was, she couldn't deny, a certain excitement in being thus forced to submit to the first real spanking of her life, and at the hands of a man so strong and masterful, so utterly different from the effete, overbred fashion-plates of polite London society. The pain inflicted on her sensitive hinder parts hurt worse than anything she had ever known, yet at the same time it was arousing passions whose urgency left her bewildered. Torn by these cross-currents of emotion Isabel, to her intense shame, burst into tears.Charles paused, stroking the burning mounds.

"Well, well," he murmured, "can this be a sign of penitence? Let's be merciful and suppose so." Replacing Isabel's dress he helped her to her feet and held her while she sobbed, her face hidden on his shoulder. When her tears had abated he offered her a moderately clean handkerchief and beckoned over the trembling cleric. "Come, parson," he ordered, "do your duty and be brisk about it, ere the young lady changes her mind."

As the clergyman gabbled his way through the ritual of the marriage service, Isabel consoled herself with the reflection that her union, even if consummated, would be of but short duration; the forces of British justice, she felt confident, would soon overtake her pirate groom. But in any case she had devised a plan, and as the ceremony concluded she saw her chance.No doubt the pirates assumed that so fashionable a young lady would scarce know how to swim. They miscalculated. Growing up on the Abercrombie estate by the Devon coast (long since lost to her father's creditors), Isabel had swum almost before she could walk. Now, as the buccaneers crowded round to congratulate their chief, leaving her momentarily unobserved, she sprang to the ship's rail, stripped off her dress and dived into the sea.

The cool water came as a benison to her glowing bottom. She struck out for the shore, hearing behind her shouts of surprise and alarm, followed by a splash. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that Charles had dived after her, while a boat was being lowered from the galleon. She redoubled her efforts. But though she was a strong swimmer, Charles was stronger. Fifty yards from the shore he caught her and, laughingly evading her blows, gripped her fast until the boat reached them. A few minutes later, to her fury and despair, Isabel found herself back on the galleon's deck, the object of amused interest from the crew. Her wet bodice and drawers, she was uncomfortably aware, left few of her bodily charms to the imagination.

"A blanket there, you gawping numbskulls!" snapped Charles, stripping off his wet shirt. "Dammit, you knaves, some consideration for a lady and my new-wedded bride!"

Taking a proffered blanket, he draped it around her. "And now," he beckoned two of the less ruffianly-looking crew members, "Paul, Barnaby, escort the lady to my cabin with all due courtesy. But I think you had best bind her, to prevent any further bids for freedom. Pinion her gently but securely. Apologies, my dear," he added with a bow. "I shall join you very shortly."

Charles's cabin proved to be snug and singularly well-appointed. Paul and Barnaby followed their captain's instructions to the letter, and Isabel found herself skilfully bound, in such a way that the ropes held her firmly but without cutting into her flesh. Then, with ironic bows and grins, they left her.

From above she could hear Charles's voice as he gave orders to the crew. Otherwise, the only sound was the soft lap of the waves and the distant cry of sea-birds. Since for the moment escape was impossible, Isabel took stock of her surroundings. They included, she was intrigued to note, several shelves of books. Of more interest to her, though, was a heavy brass compass upon the desk, and the fact that the cabin boasted portholes broad enough to allow egress.After a while she heard steps descending the companion-way, and Charles entered the cabin. He was still stripped to the waist and Isabel couldn't but admire his muscular torso.

As a lover, she had to admit, he cut a fine figure of a man. Nonetheless, she reminded herself, this was the villain who had kidnapped her, forced her into marriage under duress -- and, most unforgivably of all, put her over his knee and publicly spanked her, the brute! (At this memory she experienced an involuntary spasm of excitement, but resolutely suppressed it.)

"Your pardon, my sweet bride," said Charles with a winning smile, "for neglecting you like this on our wedding day. From now on, I assure you, you may count on my most devoted attention. I regret too that I had to have you bound. But really, we couldn't have you leaving us again so abruptly, now could we?"

Taking a dagger from his belt, he severed the cord that bound Isabel's wrists to her waist and the cord binding her ankles together.

"And now, off with that wet linen, my sweet," he commanded. "Ladies' finery, I regret to say, is in short supply on this ship, but I have a cambric shirt or two -- and well-laundered, I assure you -- that may suffice you at a pinch."

"Turn away then, sir," responded Isabel. "Even a woman-beater like you can surely assume the outward semblance of common courtesy."

Amused, Charles turned his back and began to rummage in a closet. At once Isabel snatched up the compass. One good blow to the back of his head, and she would be out the porthole and away before the crew were alerted. This time, she should be certain of reaching the shore and finding help. Stepping soundlessly behind the oblivious buccaneer, she aimed a vigorous swing at his head.

But luck was not with Lady Isabel that day. At the very last second Charles turned, and the compass caught him a glancing blow on the ear. "Ow!" he roared, grabbing her arm. For a moment he glared at her in rage and she thought he might kill her, but then his face relaxed and he laughed.

"A fine spitfire I've yoked myself to! Well, I admire your spirit, sweet bride, but braining your lord and master is no foundation for a good marriage. It seems to me you yet need a touch more husbandly discipline, my girl."

"No! Let me go, you monster!" cried Isabel, but her protests were in vain. A moment later she found herself, for the second time in less than half an hour, draped ignominiously face-down across Charles's knee, her shapely nether regions upturned for further attention.

Alas, poor Isabel! Cruel enough, in all conscience, that a second spanking should follow so hard upon the first, to be inflicted on a bottom still tender from its recent chastisement; but worse was yet to come. "Well, my dear," remarked Charles, "since we now find ourselves relieved of an audience, I think I may avail myself of the privilege of a husband and relieve these delectable orbs of their last protecting veil."

"No! Oh no!" shrieked Isabel, struggling wildly, but her captor took not the slightest notice. To her horror she felt the damp drawers being peeled slowly down until they hung in a moist tangle around her thighs, leaving her rearward curves naked and defenceless.

That blush was soon revived in all its roseate glory. Isabel, yelping and squirming, learnt that a spanking applied to a bared wet bottom stung yet more sharply. The effort of the watery pursuit and capture had robbed Charles's arm of none of its vigour, and for what seemed to her like hours spank after resounding spank descended upon her quivering mounds.

It was agonising to be thus mercilessly chastised, it was deeply shameful; yet once again, despite her wounded pride, she felt a strange secret pleasure in submitting to this man's mastery. Furthermore, the fires ignited on her rear end were arousing new, disturbing sensations in adjacent parts, and her writhings, she realised, were not occasioned exclusively by pain. The spanking was hurting her exceedingly and she could surely take no more; yet she found herself lasciviously arching her bottom as if to invite further strokes.

At long last Charles paused, caressing the ripe rosy contours of his bride's radiant bottom. How lovely she looked, he thought, all but naked across his lap, her luscious rear curves mantled by a sunset glow that contrasted so exquisitely with the whiteness of her back and thighs. Gently he raised her up and she clung to him, whimpering despite herself. There were tears in her eyes, but when he kissed her she responded with melting passion, writhing her body against his.

It was a long deep kiss, but at length Charles drew back and gazed into Isabel's eyes. "My sweet," he said softly, "the thought that you might be about to knock me unconscious would prove a sad distraction from the joys of our wedding night. So let me propose a pact. If you give me your word that you will make no further attempt to escape tonight, I promise that tomorrow I shall restore you to your liberty. Is it agreed?"

''Agreed," she breathed, and kissed him fiercely again.

So throughout that long, langorous tropical afternoon and deep into the night, Lady Isabel Abercrombie learnt the ways of love from her pirate bridegroom. To his delight, she proved an apt and eager pupil. Her warm young blood, stirred by the fires he had kindled on her bottom, was further heated by her lover's dexterous hands and tongue, arousing her passions to such a pitch that when his rampant manhood forced its way into her virgin cleft she welcomed the transient pain, crying out in a rush of overwhelming joy.And it was with no less joy that, a few moments later, she knelt over her recumbent lover and tasted her own virgin blood as she licked and teased his wilted member back into hardness, until he groaned aloud and pulled her down on top of him, re-entering her as his hand smacked her still glowing bottom-cheeks.

Then, turning her over and positioning her on hands and knees, Charles applied several more brisk slaps before driving into her from the rear, savouring the warmth of her well-spanked bottom against his belly and thighs.

Nor was this Isabel's last chastisement of the night. The next morning, just before dawn, Charles woke her with a tender kiss. Then before she knew what was happening, she found herself turned naked over his lap while he proceeded to treat her to a sound bare-bottomed spanking.

"Oww!" protested the surprised girl. "Charles! Stop it! I've done nothing wrong! Why are you spanking me?"

"Oh, chiefly for the fun of it, my sweet," he retorted, happily smacking her plump soft mounds until they blushed pinker than the Caribbean dawn that was breaking outside the porthole. "Though for a few other reasons as well. To wit, because you're an exceedingly spoilt young woman who deserves henceforth to be soundly spanked at least once a day -- and whenever possible, more often than that. Because you have such a lovely, deliciously spankable bottom. Because I thoroughly enjoy it. And because, my wilful darling, I rather suspect that you do too."

"Oww! You brute! No I don't!" Isabel cried indignantly. But when at last he released her, her passionate embrace told a different story.

A hour or two later, the galleon's longboat beached in the same bay Isabel had left barely twenty-four hours before. Charles and Isabel, the sole passengers, disembarked while the bald giant Jem rested on his oars and grinned at them. "Hope you wasn't too uncomfortable, m'lady, a-settin' on these hard seats," he chortled.Isabel blushed. The boat's wooden seat had indeed reminded her very tangibly that she was sitting on a bottom still rosy and tender from her most recent spanking. Her uneasy shiftings, it seemed, had been more evident than she thought."Enough of your impudence, Jem," ordered Charles, pushing off the boat. "Get yourself back to the ship. I'll signal you later."

"Aye, Cap'n," said Jem, and rowed off singing cheerily to himself. The words were none too clear, but they seemed to be his own personal version of the old ballad, 'Cherry Ripe'.Charles laughed. "A rough fellow, but good-hearted," he observed, and led the way along the beach, in the opposite direction to the Abercrombies' villa.
"Where are we going?" inquired Isabel. "Do you not risk being captured?"

"Oh, I think I may hazard that for your sake, my sweet," said Charles carelessly. "As for where we are bound, you'll learn that soon enough."At the far end of the beach a path led through the trees. In a few moments a fine colonial villa with a pillared portico came in view. Showing no caution, Charles marched up to the front door and entered boldly. Bewildered, Isabel followed at his heels.They found themselves in a spacious hall, flagged with black-and-white tiles. A grand double staircase curved before them. No one was to be seen."Hullo there!" called Charles, setting the echoes ringing. "Is nobody at home, dammit?"In response, a portly middle-aged woman came bustling out of a doorway. "Why, there you are, Master Henry!" she exclaimed. "A fine time to be off playing your pirate games, with the whole island in an uproar! Lady Isabel Abercrombie has vanished - kidnapped, it's feared! And who, may I ask, is this young lady?"
But Isabel was staring open-mouthed at her companion. "Henry? But you said you were -- "

"Charles? Why, so I am, my love." He made her a low bow. "Charles Henry Trevelyan at your service, my lady. This is Martha, our trusty housekeeper. And Martha, this is -- or rather, was -- Lady Isabel Abercrombie."

"Was? What on earth do you mean, Master Henry?"

"What I mean, Martha, is that she is now, and has been since yesterday, Lady Isabel Trevelyan -- my wedded wife."

"Your wife?" Martha's jaw dropped. ''Master Henry, if this is another of your pranks.... Oh my Lord sakes, I must tell the mistress!" She turned to go, then dropped Isabel a flustered curtsey. "Begging your pardon, m'lady -- if you really are m'lady, that is -- oh, mercy me!" She scuttled off calling frantically, "Madam! Madam!"Grinning, Charles turned to confront Isabel's furious glare. "Disappointed, my sweet?" he inquired."You tricked me, you -- you mountebank!""True, so I did. But since it seemed you were loath to accept a 'pasty-faced, tongue-tied youth of no distinction whatever', or indeed an 'excellent businessman', for your husband, I thought you might find a pirate chieftain more to your taste. For you must admit, my sweet, that our nuptials were anything but dull -- as, I hope you'll agree, was our wedding night."

To her annoyance, Isabel found herself blushing."I see you concur, my love. Well then, I trust you'll believe me that I intend our life together to continue as it's begun. No less romantic, no less exciting, no less filled with love and adventure. But if you doubt me, sweet Isabel, then your freedom is yours to take this instant."He smiled winningly at her. But there was a note of unease in his voice that made her realise he genuinely feared to lose her, and it was that hint of uncertainty that won the day for him. Besides, he was without question devilishly handsome. Still, she could not resist the chance of coquetry. So she kept him on tenterhooks for several moments before saying, "Very well, then, I agree -- but on three conditions."

"And they are?""First, that henceforth you will always be known as Charles.""Agreed.""Second, that I shall be far less a sugar planter's wife than a pirate's bride."


"And third that, as pirate or planter alike, you faithfully keep the promise you made me."

"Which promise was that?"

The sound of approaching, agitated voices could be heard. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. He laughed delightedly. "Agreed, with all my heart!" he cried, and embraced her warmly just as his mother and father and a gaggle of excited servants poured into the hall.A second wedding followed hard on these events -- a rather more formal affair, with a genuine bishop officiating –

followed in turn by a long and happy marriage. Not least of the sources of their happiness was that Charles Trevelyan faithfully observed the promise made by the pirate to his bride: that Lady Isabel, that lovely and exceedingly spoilt young woman, should henceforth be soundly spanked at least once a day. And whenever possible, more often than that.


  1. Great story Elizabeth! I love the way you weave the images in that just accentuate the feeling of the spanking along with the raw sexuality of it all. Excellent writing!

  2. Thank you Missy, but as I mentioned at the beginning, all credit for this one should go to Philip Kemp who wrote it.


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