When the shark bites. . .

The Crime:

She got into a fight with a friend that escalated into a shoving match and pushed her friend overboard into shark infested waters. He was worried not only that she could have killed a friend, but if fight went that bad, she could have been the one to go overboard to face the sharks. The friend had been rescued, safely, but her fear and guilt weighed her down. His fear demanded harsh punishment.

The Punishment:

Jocelyn stood at the rail of the sailboat. She was wearing a pale blue, flowing gown. The fabric of the formal gown swirled with the slight breeze, showcasing her slender curves. Her blond hair was swept up in a formal roll that suited her flawless face. She looked like the heroine in a Hitchcock film. Her face was hanging down, her chin almost touching her chest. She took a deep breath and stood there, finally raising her face to gaze at the perfect moon and the riot of stars in the warm summer sky. The only signs of her stress and distress are the white knuckles grasping the rail, and her damp eyes.

She's waiting, accepting, scared, shaken, and needing the release her punishment would bring.

Her lover comes up on deck. He is tall and trim but not thin. He's still wearing his tuxedo but his bowtie has been untied. His dark wavy hair is slightly mussed. His face is implacable and his blue eyes are cool, emotionless. He sets the heavy wooden paddle, the harsh flogger, and the cane on a seat and stands there for a moment, watching her. She turns away from the rail to look at him.

He's serious, unrelenting, firm but not openly angry. Inside he hates what he's going to do to her, even though he knows it has to be done.

She comes over to stand before him. He twirls his finger in the air and she turns her back to him. He unfastens her gown and lets it slide down to fall at her feet. He has a length of rope which he uses to bind her hands together and then to tie them to the mast.

He uses the heavy paddle first. It's a hard paddle, hard and thick, and drilled with holes. The strokes are fast and harsh, with no warm-up and no mercy. Stroke after stroke lands on her bottom, half a dozen on one side then half a dozen n the other, the back to the first. Her bottom turns very red, and very hot and still he keeps paddling her. The holes in the paddle are causing small welts and bruises, and the sound of the cracks are loud and sharp.

There are people on the deck of a nearby yacht. They are watching, standing at rail. The yacht captain starts the motor and moves closer to the sailboat. Almost everyone is at the rail watching the harsh paddling. For the most part, women are right up against the rail with men standing behind them. Many of the men are stroking the bottom of the woman in front of them, and it's understood that Jocelyn will not be the only one with a hot, red bottom that night, although hers will be the hottest, and reddest. Here and there in the watching crowd a woman runs her hands possessively over a man's bottom, and not all the warm red bottoms that night will be female.

There are few comments, and fewer still laughing remarks, but as a group they thoroughly approve of what's happening.

Jocelyn submits without complaint. She moans and gasps, but makes no attempt to get out of her punishment, no begging for mercy. It's deserved and she needs the release. He's stern but cool with it. There's no rage, no emotion, no mercy.

He drops the paddle when it gets to the point of heavy bruising. He puts it down and picks up the heavy flogger. It's not a soft flogger, made of soft leather and meant to pleasure. This is a heavy flogger, made of stiff leather and made to punish. He uses the flogger on her back between her shoulders. He swings it with a rhythmic flare, each stroke causing a loud thwack. Leaving instantly red skin, welts and some scratches in its wake. Each swing of the flogger caused her to gasp aloud. She strained with the effort not to scream, not to beg.

He puts down the flogger and picks up the cane. “It will be forty strokes, and you will count them in a clear loud tone or the stroke will be repeated.”

From the first stroke, there were stripes.

She called out in a clear, but trembling voice. “One, thank you, my love.”

By ten, the stripes because deeper welts. Her voice was shakier, and it took longer for the words to come out.

By thirty, the stripes were showing drops of blood. He did not let up. By forty the blood was flowing in some places and it was clear that she would need to have her bottom treated.

After the last stroke, he drops the cane and leaves her tied to the mast. He goes down to have a drink and relax himself. It takes a good half hour before he comes up to untie her. He treats her wounded back and bottom. After it's over, all is forgiven and he's loving and comforting.