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  MASTER AND COMMANDER

  A collection of five erotic spanking stories

  Edited by Miranda Forbes

  Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2011

  ISBN 9781908086365

  Copyright © Accent Press Ltd 2010

  These stories have also been published in

  Ultimate Spanking ISBN 9781907016127

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  The stories contained within this book are works of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Winner of Jade Erotic Awards:

  Erotic Fiction Publisher 2010

  "Xcite has delighted its readers with a wealth of superb titles and first class storytelling. Their titles have far outstripped the others for both quality of the product and sensual erotic content."

  Contents

  Master and Commander Sadie Wolf

  The Spanking Man Monica Belle

  Perfect Bound Shanna Germain

  Advantage Headmaster Philippa Johnson

  Anatomy of a Brat Poppy St Vincent

  Master and Commander

  by Sadie Wolf

  There’s no need to bother with any of those paddles and whips you get in sex shops. Far better to use what comes naturally, what is to hand, so to speak.

  The hand of a strong man can deliver a spanking that can make a grown woman cry and if more is required then he can grab something that’s to hand like the remote control, a wooden spoon, a fish slice or a shoe.

  Best of all and really the only piece of equipment required, he can take off his belt and use that. A leather belt is the original and best, and for those who want to take it that extra bit further, there’s always the buckle end.

  So you see there really is no need at all to waste money on expensive black leather paddles with the word ‘Bitch’ embossed upon them, even if at first glance they do look quite tempting. (Sadie Wolf on Spanking 2009)

  Is there anything more romantic than the idea of living on a narrow boat? And is there anything more exciting than the anticipation of a first date with someone you really, really like? Especially when that someone is a man who has already told you, over the course of several long and intimate telephone calls, that his favourite thing is giving oral sex and that he has a rule of always making the woman come first.

  Rebecca put her bag and coat and the directions on the passenger seat and started the engine. In two hours time she would be with him. She was to drive to the nearby village and he would come and meet her and take her to his boat.

  Her friend Jill – his sister – had introduced them in an obvious but very welcome set-up. Rebecca had never been out with a friend’s brother before, and she had been a little worried about the etiquette of the situation. What had she said and done that Jill knew about and that he may not approve of, and would his sister feel duty-bound to tell him? Jill reassured her that she would not be passing any information in either direction, and when Rebecca expressed reservations about sharing how it was going because she was dating her brother, Jill dismissed her concerns. ‘Say what you like, he may be my brother, but he’s a man and men can be a nightmare,’ which immediately got them back on normal girl-girl footing.

  Mark, on the other hand, was not so relaxed, saying right at the start, ‘Don’t tell my sister any of my secrets will you?’ She’d thought he was joking at first, but quickly realised that he wasn’t. ‘You have been warned,’ he added sternly.

  This sternness was sexy; in the past she had gone out with new men or ‘metrosexuals’ as they seem to be called nowadays; all serious writer-types, stringy students, men who wouldn’t know how to be stern if their life depended on it. These types never lasted long as boyfriends; they were simply not substantial enough for her. She never felt as if she could lean on them; never felt that they were strong enough to hold her.

  More recently, she had tried a different tack and dated a few older guys, thinking that they would be stronger and more powerful than men her own age. But, again, she had been disappointed. Her most recent string of dates with a man had been promising at first; he was fifteen years older than her, had lived an interesting life, knew lots of people and seemed confident and comfortable in his own skin. But there the positive points ended.

  The more time she spent with him, the more cloying and fussy she found him. He worried over minor details like car parking, planned their every date with military precision, and as for the sex … He seemed to think he was being chivalrous, but it just came over as overly-intimate, almost like going to have a chat at the doctors. All talk and no sexual desire. He asked practical questions out of context, taking the thrill out of everything. Actual sex was pedestrian, over-friendly rather than passionate; like making out with the human equivalent of a Golden Retriever. And when she had tried to communicate her needs and desires, it had gone spectacularly wrong.

  She had tried to initiate a little light spanking session by doing something mildly annoying to get a rise out of him, then acting like a naughty schoolgirl and lying across his lap. He still did not take the hint, so in the end she had actually asked him to spank her. Horrified, he had jumped up as if he had been burned and looked at her as if she had just confessed to killing a member of his family. She had felt humiliated; he had actually called her a ‘dirty little pervert’ and not in a nice way, and that had been the end of that.

  By the time she had met Mark, she was fast giving up hope of ever meeting anyone. But when he walked into the bar and sat down with her, she just knew , somehow. She could feel the strength rolling off him.

  A couple of weeks after their initial meeting, and well into the long phone call stage, Jill called Rebecca and invited her out for a drink after work. Rebecca gave her an update and Jill looked almost as excited as Rebecca felt.

  ‘And what’s more, he’s invited me to go and stay for the weekend!’

  ‘On the boat?’

  ‘Yes, on the boat.’

  ‘Wow, you are privileged. I can’t remember the last time he invited a woman onto his boat.’

  After two more drinks and no food, Rebecca was feeling decidedly inebriated, and could almost feel her tongue loosening. Talk returned to the topic of the weekend on the boat.

  ‘Seriously, he seems really into you. He never talked about what happened, but he had a really rough time with his wife. It was a very nasty divorce and I think it’s taken him a while to get over it. Sounds like you might just be the one to put a smile back on his face.’

  Rebecca felt a glow of pride and, in a rush of gratitude, found herself confiding in Jill. She told herself the story of Mark’s divorce, which he’d told her all about, was her information to share, even though as she spoke the words out loud she knew that it wasn’t. The look on Jill’s face told her that she’d made a very big mistake.

  ‘She cheated on him? With Paul, his best friend! Oh my God, how could she do that! I always knew she was a bitch, but God, I never realised. Poor Mark, I can’t believe he never told any of us!’

  ‘He said he felt too ashamed … hardly wanted to admit it to himself. You won’t tell him that I told you will you? I think he only told me because I told him how Steve used to cheat on me, and it kind of came out, he doesn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rebecca, I’ll keep quiet for now, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it to myself for ever. You know, you really shouldn’t h
ave told me.’

  Rebecca spent the next hours and days in a terrible state of wired anxiety. She wanted to call Jill and beg her not to say anything, but she sensed that would only make things worse. She thought about confessing to Mark, but the thought terrified her. She both longed for and dreaded his texts and phone calls, wondering if her world would come crashing down at any moment. In the meantime they chatted on the phone as usual and as the end of the week arrived she began to think she had got away with it. Surely, if Jill was going to tell him, she would have done it before she went to stay with him for the weekend?

  She pulled up in the little car park beside the village hall as per Mark’s directions. It was a beautifully sunny, hot day and there seemed to be some kind of fete on. Tourists and young families with buggies were all over the road and the grass verges. She got out of the car and stretched. Her blouse had stuck to her back in the heat and she loosened it to let the air onto her body. She brushed her hair in the car window and checked her make-up in the mirror. She saw a silver car pull up – it was him.

  He got out and walked over to her and picked up her bag without touching her.

  ‘Good journey?’

  ‘Yes thanks.’

  He opened the passenger door of his car for her and closed it behind her. The journey took two minutes and neither of them said a word. He parked on a grassed area, opened the door for her and picked up her bag and started walking, through a gap in the hedge and down on to the towpath. Her skin prickled with fear.

  The canal was pretty, with trees on either side; upon it there were swans and geese and beautiful narrow boats in traditional greens and blues, many with plants growing in pots on their roofs. His boat was beautiful, a faded dark blue. He stepped on first and handed her his arm. She followed him inside to the little living area. It smelled of fresh wood and was lined and panelled with pine. Outside through the little windows she could see the swans and geese on the water. He sat down on one of the bench seats and she did the same. She felt faint with terror. He looked at her.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Silence. He wasn’t even looking at her any more.

  ‘I really am sorry, I shouldn’t have done it.’

  ‘Then why did you?’

  There was no answer to that. She didn’t know why she’d done it, so she couldn’t say.

  ‘What can I do to make it up?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Her face burned. She just wanted to get back into her car and drive home. But she couldn’t leave it like this. She almost felt like crying when she thought back to her journey there, the sense of delicious anticipation, not just about the weekend but about the potential relationship ahead. They had talked on the phone about what they liked and he had said in a voice cracked with desire, ‘Oh girl, you and I are going to have so much fun together,’ and she had felt like nothing could be more perfect.

  Why, oh why, had she done it? She was a fool! A fool, an idiot girl who deserved to be punished. Deserved to be punished.

  So maybe, just maybe, there might be a way out of this mess. She didn’t want to leave, and nor had he asked her to, but she couldn’t spend the rest of the weekend there with him angry and not speaking to her, even though she was quite sure he would have no problem keeping it up. He’d left her in no doubt as to whether or not he took shit from anyone. He didn’t

  Anything was worth a try. Anything that might mean she wouldn’t lose him.

  He was looking out of the window as if she wasn’t there. She took a deep breath and went and knelt down on the floor by his feet. She took his hand. It sat lifeless in hers. Oh God.

  ‘Punish me.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Punish me. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t bear that I’ve made you angry. I want you to punish me enough so that you can forgive me.’

  ‘If I punish you enough to make me forgive you, that’s going to have to be one hell of a punishment. You’ve really pissed me off, Rebecca. I’m really fucking disappointed in you.’

  ‘I know. I know you are, and I am really, really, so, so sorry.’

  He looked at her and squeezed her hand for a fraction of a second.

  ‘I know you are. But it’s difficult for me to forgive something like that.’

  ‘That’s why I want you to punish me. So that you can.’

  ‘Rebecca, I’d have to really hurt you, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Please.’

  He scowled, as if he were struggling with conflicting emotions. She held her breath and prayed. He sighed loudly, and then he stood up and drew the curtains.

  ‘All right. Get up and get undressed.’

  Shaking with a mixture of relief and terror, she undid her blouse, unzipped her jeans and took them off. Then removed her bra and knickers, as quickly and as unceremoniously as if she were getting ready for a swim.

  He picked up an old wooden chair.

  ‘Kneel down and hold on to the seat.’

  She did as she was told, her knees on the hard wood floor of the boat, her forearms resting on the seat of the chair, her hands gripping the uprights at the back. She heard, rather than saw, him taking off his belt.

  There was a loud crack, almost like an explosion, and then her body buckled in shock as he brought the belt down across her buttocks. For a second it was like jumping into cold water, the breath was knocked out of her body, and then a split second later the pain ripped through her and she screamed. The pain seemed to build in intensity and to be going on for too long, and then just as she thought that he brought the belt down again, layering a new pain on top of the first one. It was too much for her and she screamed and tried to stand. He pushed her roughly back down on to the chair by her shoulders and then with one hand firmly in her shoulder blades he slapped her hard around the side of her face.

  ‘Just shut the fuck up. People can hear you.’

  He let go of her and leaned back, and this time when the belt hit her she pressed her mouth against the seat of the chair and stifled her scream, so that it just came out as a sort of stifled sob. And she managed, somehow, to hold herself still.

  It was a huge effort of will. She did it by reminding herself of how he had looked when she had arrived, and how this was the only way back, the only way to gain his forgiveness.

  Again and again he brought his belt down on her, until it felt as if her whole body had gone into a state of shock. It was almost as if she were having an out of body experience and looking down on herself from the ceiling. Almost, except that she could feel everything: each new blow took a split second to arrive, like thunder after a flash of lightning, and each new burst of pain layered upon and accentuated the pain from previous blows.

  She felt that he was working up and down her buttocks but also layering blows on top of blows, so that the whole area burned and burned with pain. In her mind she imagined what it looked like: red marks, wheals. She wondered if there was blood and how badly it would bruise. In front of her eyes was the back of the chair, and she kept her eyes fixed on the wooden spindles, the pattern of the grain, the faint dusting of sawdust, the little marks and nicks in the wood. Outside she could hear people walking along the towpath, the low voices of adults talking and the sound of children running and laughing. They were only feet away but the sounds seemed to come from another world.

  She was sobbing freely now; she had managed to stop screaming after each blow. Her face and the seat of the chair were wet with tears and her body felt battered and exhausted. She slumped more heavily against the chair, every last bit of resistance gone out of her.

  She felt the tiniest let-up, the tiniest easing in the intensity of the blows. Heard him exhale as if he too was exhausted, and then it stopped. She didn’t quite dare believe it at first; she thought it might just be a longer than usual pause, or a break between whacks, but he had really stopped.

  She heard and felt him straighten up behind her, and stand back. She im
agined him surveying his handiwork and she hoped that he was pleased. She also felt the first glimmers of pride. Pride in herself for holding still by will alone when she had not been restrained, pride in herself for containing her screams without the assistance of a gag.

  ‘Sit up.’

  She carefully unfolded her body and sat up on her knees, so that her bottom didn’t touch her heels. She felt raw and tender and bruised. She didn’t dare meet his eye, so her gaze focussed on his thighs, on his work jeans. How she wanted to cling to him, but she didn’t move; she waited. He moved over to the snug and sat down on the low seat that also doubled as a little bed. He rested back on the cushions. He was only four or five feet away from her but it felt like a million miles.

  ‘Come here and suck me off.’ She heard the ragged catch of desire in his voice and her heart leapt. Everything hurt as she crawled over to him, but inside she was overflowing with joy and happiness. She kept her eyes on his jeans and with trembling hands that fumbled and slipped she found the button and undid it and unzipped his jeans. She eased them down along with his underwear; he didn’t move or help her so that she was only able to ease his clothing down just enough to get his cock out.

  It was the first time she had seen it: it was thick and rock hard and surrounded by dark, almost black hair. She took it in her mouth with infinite gentleness and licked her tongue around him, then took him deep into her mouth. She could taste the come on the end of his cock already, and soon he abandoned his nonchalant pose and grabbed hold of her hair and the back of her head and pushed her down harder and further onto him. He pushed his hips up towards her and swore under his breath and she knew then that everything was going to be okay: she had survived.

  ‘Jesus, Rebecca, you’re going to drive me fucking crazy, you know that,’ he murmured. And with a groan that almost sounded like he was in physical pain, he came into her mouth. She swallowed his come and then half lay, half sat, resting her head beside him until he moved over and made room and pulled her up onto the seat beside him, where he wrapped his arms around her and they slept.