Sea Spirit and Painted Lady

Story by R.T. Mason from Janus 40

It was the last day of their Whitsun holiday: a perfect English late spring day with the sun shining out of a clear blue sky and just enough breeze off the sea to keep the little seaside town fresh and sparkling. Yes, a beautiful June day and as it turned out a uniquely memorable one for 16-year-old Emma Watson.

Her parents had rented a cottage at the quiet Devon resort and it had been a very pleasant week, though perhaps, for Emma, just a little unexciting. At 16 she was not a child anymore but at the same time not exactly an adult either. Perhaps it was because she was at that so-called awkward age that Emma had wanted to go off by herself on this last day rather than stay with her parents as she had for most of the rest of the week. Being with her parents all the time meant she hadn’t met anyone else much. No girls her own age. And also no boys.

So on this last morning she said she felt like just wandering around rather than going with them on their visit to some beauty spot or other. They didn’t object; only told her to be careful and be back for lunch, and she went off, feeling a bit more grown up to be on her own. Perhaps that was partly why it seemed such an extra nice day; being by herself with that tingle of anticipation that something exciting might happen.

Emma had put on her favourite dress, pink with blue flowers on it. Knee-length and full-skirted, it showed off her slim waist and quite long legs. She wore a waist slip underneath — because otherwise you could see through the thin dress, especially in the bright sun — and her smart pair of white high-heeled sandals. There was no need for a coat or cardigan so she would be able to show off her trim figure which secretly Emma was rather proud of. She added a touch of her mother’s pink lipstick. In the mirror, with her blonde hair tied back in a pony-tail, she thought she looked pretty good, sexy even.

Please, she had wished, just a little adventure before we have to go back home. And Emma had got her adventure all right. Not anything she could possibly have expected but definitely an adventure. Something so scarily exciting it had made her feel physically sick.

Actually, before that quite mind-boggling thing there was something else, something quite exciting in itself. On the front looking in one of the gift shop windows a man had spoken to her. He was perhaps in his thirties, not bad-looking and with an educated accent. He said something about it being a lovely day and then a few other things and it became clear to Emma that he was trying to pick her up. She felt a hot flush of excitement, her mind rushing on to various heady possibilities. At 16 Emma had never properly been out with boys and also her mother always told her not to talk to strange men, which this clearly was.

He wanted to buy her an ice-cream but, flushing, Emma said No thanks. He wasn’t too persistent and after a bit went off. As a parting shot he said, ‘You’ve got lovely legs, you know.’

That brought another flush to Emma’s cheeks. She strolled off, very conscious now of her long bare legs in the high-heeled sandals, her thighs bare under the thin summer dress. She could imagine the man’s hands on her thighs — and even on something else. Part of her definitely wished she had said Yes to him; it undoubtedly would have been an adventure, but perhaps more of one than she wanted. But it was that tinge of regret that made her bolder later on. Half an hour later.

She had wandered on, to the end of the sea front and then round to the place where the boats were. There were lots of them: yachts and motor boats of all shapes and sizes, some moored out in the water and others clustered round the jetties. At the very end there was that one solitary boat, a biggish launch, all by itself moored at the end of an isolated wooden walkway. It was called the Sea Spirit.

As Emma looked she saw a black kitten on the boat’s deck. On impulse she walked out onto the jetty, careful of her high heels on the gaps between the planks. The kitten miaowed and moved towards her. And then the man appeared. Older than the one at the gift shop, fiftyish but lean and suntanned.

‘Hello,’ he said, his eyes looking her up and down. ‘Do you like cats?’

And in what seemed like no time at all Emma was walking across the little plank and onto the boat. She knew she shouldn’t, it was exactly the sort of thing her mother told her never to do; but perhaps if you always followed exactly what your mother told you, you would never do anything. That man at the gift shop had been partly responsible. This one didn’t say she had lovely legs but his eyes, taking in the long legs and the trim figure, gave her the same message. What he did say was would she like some tea. And after only a moment’s hesitation Emma said Yes please.

She followed him down the little ladder, into the cabin, with the kitten coming too. He made a pot of tea, and chatted about this and that, asking where she was from and where she was staying, as they sat in the little cabin on the facing seats. All the time Emma had a funny feeling, a sort of excitement inside, as if she knew something was going to happen. Perhaps it was just that she had never done anything like this before. In any event, of course, something did happen.

When she had finished her tea. He took the cup and gave her a funny look with those grey-green eyes. Smiling a bit, he said, quite out of the blue, ‘You were trespassing, you know. On my jetty. What should we do with a pretty girl who trespasses?’

Suddenly all Emma’s senses were alert but she didn’t answer, didn’t know what to say. With another smile he said, ‘What about a spanking? That’s always a nice way to deal with a pretty girl.’

Emma opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her mind couldn’t really accept what she had heard. Then he said, ‘Yes, I think we’ll give her a spanking. With her knickers down, of course.’

Emma gave a weak sort of laugh. Her mind had got hold of it now all right but he must be joking. And it was the kind of joke that made you go all hot and cold — and also very red in the face. The idea of getting her bare bottom smacked, and by this stranger who was quite attractive in an older-man sort of way, was definitely mind-boggling. Emma waited for him to say something that would indicate that he was joking.

Instead, giving her that level stare again, he said, ‘Stand up then and take them down.’

This time she did manage to produce something. ‘Look... you’re joking, aren’t you?’

He laughed. ‘No I’m not. I’m quite serious. Take your knickers down, please. Or I might just take you along to the police station.’

‘What for?’ she gasped.

‘I think the expression they use is “In need of care and protection”. A number of people have complained about girls hanging about round here. Girls on holiday and also local schoolgirls. Some of them looking for excitement and some of them wanting to make a bit of pocket money. You know what I mean, I’m sure. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want your parents to have to collect you from the police station because you had been picked up for that. Would you, Emma dear?’

What he was saying was simply horrible. ‘I never... I was just going for a walk,’ she spluttered.

He stood up and, taking her hand, pulled Emma to her feet. ‘I believe you. But I also want to smack your bottom. Nothing vicious, you might even like it. So are you going to take them down or shall I?’

Emma stood there, shaking. The thought of it was nothing less than mind-blowing. To be over this man’s lap with her bottom bare. She gave a gasp as he pulled her close with one arm round her waist. Then the other hand went down and came back up the bare backs of her thighs, lifting dress and petticoat with it. Further up, over her tightly-knickered rump and his fingers then clawing at the knickers’ waistband.

Emma struggled but only weakly because she felt quite faint with excitement. The next thing she knew he had backed down onto his seat and she was over his lap. Her skirt was up round her waist and those strong fingers were completing the removal of the pink knickers from Emma’s bottom, tugging them halfway down her thighs. Suddenly, shockingly, his hand was on the bare cheeks, stroking, but when you’d never had a man’s hand there before it felt more like the touch of a naked electric wire. And then the hand started spanking.

Emma thought she was going to be sick. It wasn’t so much that it hurt desperately badly, though it did hurt, but more the sense of shock, of hot embarrassment that this man could be doing such a thing to her. Mixed with all that, though, was a sensation of intense excitement at having one of her most intimate regions bared before him like this and being forced to submit to it. It was dreadful but at the same time dreadfully exciting.

The spanking went on, bringing involuntary gasps and grunts as the hand systematically splatted down briskly and loudly on every part of Emma’s firm and shapely bottom. The feeling that she was going to be sick became less but at the same time Emma realised she was crying. Again it wasn’t really the pain but simply that the whole thing was emotionally too much for her.

At last he stopped and pulled Emma to her feet. She was sobbing and shaking so much she could hardly stand, and with her eyes filled with tears she could barely see either. A real mess. The man put a tissue in her hand and told her to blow her nose. She did, and wiped her eyes. He now held a glass of something. Sherry, he said. Emma took it and promptly choked. Coughing, she flopped back down onto her seat — and then realised her pink knickers were still down round her knees.

Feeling like bursting into tears she struggled the knickers back up under her dress. Sitting opposite, the man asked if she was feeling better. Emma tried to say something but only produced a kind of sobbing sound.

He smiled. ‘Nothing to worry about. A spanking’s very good for a girl and I found it most enjoyable. But I wouldn’t go accepting invitations on every boat round here. There’re plenty of men who’d have your knickers down for a very different reason. And I don’t suppose your mother’d be very pleased if that nice trim tummy started swelling up in a few months’ time.’

There was nothing you could say to that. In a croaky voice Emma said, ‘I… I’ve got to go.’

He said OK. Emma stood up, still a bit tottery. In the mirror she saw she looked a real mess, her eyes all red from crying. He put his arm round her narrow waist. Incredibly he asked if she wanted to come out that evening, for a drink. Emma shook her head.

The man pulled her round, both arms round her, and kissed her on the mouth. One hand ran over her still heated bottom; and Emma felt a hardness in the front of his trousers pressing against her.

‘You’ve got a super bum,’ he said. ‘I could smack it every day of the week.’

She broke away and he didn’t try to stop her. The kitten was outside on the deck and Emma stroked it and then stepped off onto the jetty. Stumbling a couple of times on the planks and then on shore started walking quickly away. She looked back once and saw him on deck, watching her. Feeling his hand on her bottom, his mouth on her lips, she turned and went on.

Emma said nothing to her parents about her adventure. She felt all shaky for the rest of the day and in bed that night, hotly reliving it all, she did something that nice girls aren’t supposed to do. They left the next morning for home and she never saw the man again.

----//----

All that was eight years ago. Emma was now 24, married and with a three-year-old daughter, Katie. In all those years she had never been back to the little seaside town but the memory of that morning on the Sea Spirit had remained with her, unfading, crystal-bright. From time to time she had thought of going back, to walk along the sea front again and relive those moments, but she never had. In fact soon after the holiday she had casually asked her mother if they might go again next year. A seemingly offhand inquiry but Emma’s heart had been pounding. But her mother said she didn’t think so. It had been nice but perhaps it would be more interesting to see somewhere else. They had gone to Swanage. Swanage was alright but there was no one there to invite Emma on his boat and take her knickers down and smack her bare bottom. Even though she did wander around quite a bit on her own.

After that there were other places but none with men who took Emma’s knickers down. And soon anyway she met Robert and then when she was 20 they got married. They got on well and she was very happy but that tingling memory remained, ever bright. At times she thought about it, guiltily, when Robert was making love to her and it was always an intense turn-on, sweeping her up to an orgasm which otherwise didn’t always come.

Once or twice Emma had thought of telling Robert about the man on the boat — and even telling Robert he could spank her if he wanted to. She was sure that would be terribly exciting but she never did say anything, afraid he might think she was silly. And also in a way it was nice to keep the whole thing to herself. Her private secret garden.

It had remained that all those years — a secret stunning pleasure-place in her mind. Then this year, eight years later, in January when it’s nice to be thinking about summer holidays, Robert out of the blue had mentioned the magic name of that little town. Someone had told him it was a good place for a quiet family holiday. Flushing, Emma had said, Yes, she had been there once...

And so in August here she was. Once more.

Not that he would be here now, or the Sea Spirit. People with boats were very mobile and he had obviously only been there on holiday. Right now, eight years older, he could be anywhere. Some French town for instance, smacking some pretty French girl’s bottom, and in any case it could well be that he only went for trim 16-year-old bottoms. The years, and baby Katie, had added just a little to Emma’s rear. It was somewhat fuller now, though still firm and shapely.

But though she didn’t expect to see him Emma still experienced a surge of excitement at being in that magic place again. They arrived quite late, time only for a drink and then bed. In the sheets Emma was at once hotly passionate, sufficient for Robert to notice. She explained it as due to being in a strange bed, but it was of course something else. And she knew that tomorrow she would have to get away and walk round there by herself. To where the boats were.

She managed it by telling Robert she had to do some shopping. He was quite happy to take Katie on the beach and Emma would join them later. She told herself she was being stupid anyway; she could remember it all as clear as if it were yesterday and in eight years things could have changed a lot. It might be all different and that would spoil it, spoil her secret garden. Emma almost convinced herself that she should not bother but instead go straight to the beach.

She didn’t though. As she had all those years before she walked along the front, past that gift shop, and then out round the corner. To the boat area. It was all the same, exactly the same, it seemed. The multi-coloured boats all jumbled together. And further on, at the end, her heart missed a beat, for there was a boat all by itself, exactly like... No, it wasn’t exactly like the other.

The hull of that one had surely been a darker blue and, as she got closer, there was the name. Her boat had been the Sea Spirit. This was called Painted Lady. Nonetheless Emma’s heart gave another violent thump as she saw there was a man on the rear deck. It wasn’t him of course but this one looked very much the same age, fiftyish. He saw her — and called Good Morning.

Somehow Emma found herself walking out on that wooden jetty again. As she did she realised she was wearing white high-heeled sandals — exactly as before. As before she had to watch out for the gaps in the slats. Thinking of the sandals, her mind ran on. To her bare legs, her bare thighs under her short thin dress. And her knickers. The knickers which eight years ago in this place had come down. They had been pink ones. Today they weren’t pink, they were blue.

That was what she was thinking as she said, ‘Hello. I… I’m here for the week. With my husband.’ That sounded a bit stupid and she added, ‘I used to know someone with a boat here. Like yours.’ That sounded inane too.

Perhaps it was also stupid to go on board and accept a glass of sherry. But although it clearly wasn’t the same, Emma knew that in a way she was reliving that day when she was a sweet young 16-year-old. She had the sherry, and then another. And although it was also stupid Emma felt an overwhelming urge to tell him.

She heard herself say, ‘Shall I tell you something? About when I was 16? That boat that was moored here. That man...’

It all came out, a bit disjointed in parts, but Emma told it all. While the man, this new man, sat listening intently, his eyes never leaving her face.

‘And was that the only time?’ he asked when she had finished.

‘Oh yes. It was only that one time.’

‘Didn’t you want it to happen again, though? Afterwards?’ he asked.

Emma flushed. She had wanted it to happen again but you can’t say that to a man you’ve only just met. She said No but her face probably told a different story.

‘I bet you did,’ he said. ‘I bet you’ve dreamt about it all these years and wanted it to happen again. Didn’t you?’

Red-faced, Emma shook her head. He smiled. ‘Look; why don’t we pretend this is, what was it, the Sea Spirit? And you’re sweet 16 again.’

Emma said ‘Don’t be silly’ but her blood was pounding in her ears. And the man was pulling her to her feet, just like before. He fondled her breasts, which the other man hadn’t done, and then, with both arms round her, one hand was stroking her bottom. Emma’s round, ripe, 24-year-old bottom. Then the hand was grabbing up her dress and clawing at her knickers. She heard herself gasping ‘Don’t!’ but she wasn’t trying to stop him. Just leaning against him, shaking all over.

And then she was over his lap. Her head down near the deck, her skirt up and her knickers round her knees. His hand on the bare cheeks of her bottom, caressing. And then spanking. As before Emma thought she was going to be sick with excitement.

As the spanking continued Emma’s excitement if anything increased. When at last he stopped she was panting, almost gasping for breath. With her head spinning Emma remembered back: now she would pull up her knickers, and that would be it. That was what happened last time, eight years ago. But this time it was different. He was pulling her knickers on down, taking them off.

And then Emma was on the seat, lying on it. And something else was happening. Something perhaps more appropriate for a 24-year-old married woman. Something that clearly she shouldn’t be allowing. But she was.

Afterwards the man asked, ‘Can you come back tomorrow?’

Emma bit her lip and thought of Robert and Katie — and everything else. And then said, ‘Yes; I think so.’

Any thoughts on casting for the Emma Watson character?