Sailing & Spanking

September 15, 2007 – 10:00 am

Chelsea and I worked our way up the north-east coast as
far as Martha’s Vinyard, then back via Block Island and Gardiners Bay.
It was fun talking with Chelsea about history and present-day politics.
Her understanding, of course, tended to be a santitized school-teacher
version. It was most enjoyable to open her eyes to lesser-known
evidence of motivations that had been driving events . She was a quick
learner, (as I had already found!), had a prodigious memory and
enjoyed using her mind.

Every night we ate well, often from lobster, shrimp, oysters  or
steak, and we moored sometimes at a marina, but it was more fun for us
when we entered a port during the day to buy our dinner, then went and
found an anchorage for the night without other boats around where we
could be our own uninhibited selves, skinny-dipping . . and so on . . .

Chelsea had sassed me a few times along the way, with the consequences
that I’d promised to her . . . At one of our lone anchorages, the sun
was just setting, a full moon was rising, a pleasantly warm breeze
came lightly from the south; any boat would, like ours, have its
lights showing, and none were in sight. That evening was late into our
second and last week; we were standing on deck near the mast . . . and
Chelsea sassed me yet again . . .

The mainsail and jibs were down, of course, as we rode at anchor. This
left the mast as an unencumbered metal shaft, rising into the warm
night sky, with only the halyard lines and some flag-hoists of
smoothly braided nylon, as thick as your finger, running up along the
length of the mast. Each one passed up and over a pulley at the top,
and down again to the cleat that fastened it at the foot of the mast.

Chelsea had hardly got her sassy words out when I grabbed her wrists and
quickly had them tied together with my belt of soft leather. I looped
the end of the belt around the mast and tied it back on itself; that
left her able to move her wrists up and down the mast as the loop of
leather belt slid along the metal shaft. She was struggling around,
jerking wrists up and down on the mast, sticking her bottom out and in
again and kicking her legs around: but she could not move far!

I just said: “Right Chelsea, you know what happens when you sass me!
It’ll be a bit different this time, though! This will be a spanking
like you have never dreamed of!”, and I left Chelsea there to stew for
a bit and went below. She was fuming when I got back, but stopped
swearing when curiosity overcame her as she saw my briefcase. I
started by releasing the mainsail halyard and fastened the shackle
to the leather ties at her wrists; then I pulled on the other end of
the halyard: instead of pulling up the mainsail, it pulled Chelsea’s
wrists up the mast!

I laid my briefcase flat on the deck, and told Chelsea to step onto it
as I continued to yank on the halyard. Her wrists were pulled up the
mast by this rope which went up to the top; it went through a pulley
there and came down again to the end that I was tugging at: she *had*
to step up onto the briefcase, which placed her at the height above
the deck that I wanted her . . . but I’m sure she did not yet have any
idea *why* I wanted her on this little platform! When Chelsea’s wrists
were at the height I wanted them, I fastened the rope back on its
cleat at the foot of the mast. I completely ignored her shouts of
“Beast! Bully! What are you going to dooo to me? Bluebeard! Ohhhhh!
You’re horrrrible!!”

Next, down came her shorts and panties, and I began to give her the
spanking that she fully expected. The difference this time was that I
cupped my hand and made it come up from below her bottom. The cheeks
of her bottom were even lovlier with her being upright: their weight
pulled them down slightly to accentuate their beautiful curves.

As I spanked, her lovely orbs bounced upwards with each blow and I
could see the shock waves travel up through the rotundity of her
bottom. I knew the same exciting shock-waves were pounding up inside
her pelvis too. Chelsea was squirming and wriggling against the mast
and the braided ropes that travelled up it.

Chelsea’s cries rang out loud and clear across the water, and I was
keeping a sharp look-out for boats’ lights: “Nooo! I diiidn’t mean it!
Stoooop! You’re a beeeeast! Ohhhh!”. She was wriggling around all the
time and sticking her bottom out away from the mast then pressing back
hard against the ropes. I thought Chelsea might fall off the briefcase,
but her hands were tied too far up the mast for that.

At last she howled: “Pent! I’m soooory! Pleeese stooop! I’m sooory!
I’m sooory!! Pleeese!”, and her bottom was very warm by then.

She always said “Sorry” when she really wanted me to stop, and
I did stop and stood beside her gently rubbing the rosy cheeks of her
bottom, as I made soothing noises, saying: “I do wish you wouldn’t
sass me, Chelsea. I *have* to spank you for your own good. You know how
I hate having to do it! Let me try and sooth the pain, now you have
said you are sorry”. And I heard Chelsea’s gurgling laugh, in spite of
her tears, at what I’d said.

Then I dropped to my knees on the deck and began to kiss her darling
bottom and suck and nibble . . . I soon had my face buried into her
cleft; I just came up at intervals for air, then rammed my face back
in again as my tongue flicked like a humming-bird’s in and out of her
honey pot.

Chelsea was becoming more and more aroused with this prolonged sensuous
treatment. I could hear her breath coming in gasps as she wriggled
around pressing herself against the ropes on the mast. At last she was
jerking around so much that it took all the strength in my hands
and neck to stop her escaping from my pursuing tongue, and she
exploded into an ecstatic orgasm: her gasps and shouts must have been
clearly audible across the water a mile away.

I stood up behind her and held Chelsea close. My arms were around her
and the mast, and I supported her while she gradually got calmer. At
this point I took the bottle of baby oil from my pocket and removed my
own pants. I knelt again on the deck and started to stroke Chelsea’s
bottom with the oil on my fingers.

She began again to grind herself against the ropes on the mast as my
thumb slowly worked its way into her bottom. I poured plenty of the
oil on my rock-hard yard and stood up again behind Chelsea; it was then
she realized the purpose of the briefcase: it put her at exactly the
right height for me to slide my yard slooooowly up into her bottom!

When I had finally slid my yard all the way in, as far as I could go,
and I was pressing against Chelsea’s warm bottom, and she was hard
against the ropes on the mast, she murmured: “Oh, Pent! that is sooo
wonderful! Just stay still and hold me tightly! I want to remember
this moment for ever!”, and I did as she asked. Only after a long
time to savour the moment, many minutes later, did I start to move my
yard slooowly in and out of her bottom.

As I thrust up into Chelsea’s bottom each time, I pressed my pelvis hard
against her lovely hot cheeks and moved from side to side to rub her
against those ropes on the mast. Even quicker than usual I could
feel Chelsea start to shake and shudder and jerk in erratic spasms, and
she began to make those strange animal noises of hers low down in her
throat as her excitement rose in her second orgasm and I came with
her as we joined together in primitive priapic roars of wild ectatic
pleasure which travelled for miles across the still night sea!