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  Emily gritted her teeth for the next stroke and managed to stay silent as it painted a second burning stripe across her posterior.

  ‘Two.’

  The third stroke forced a sharp intake of breath and she clung to the cannon as tightly as she could. Her arms trembled with the effort and her hands were clammy against the metal. In her fantasies, Trevelyan had usually tied her wrists together. That would be a mercy now. The possibility of disgracing herself by leaping out of position was a challenge she hadn’t counted on. Sweat trickled down her face and she panted, waiting for the next stroke.

  Again the bosun’s rattan met her tender bottom. She hissed through her teeth, determined to stifle her cries. Trevelyan was watching; she could not bear his reproach.

  ‘Four.’

  Harmwell’s dutiful counting was strangely humbling. It was clear he got no pleasure from this; he was simply obeying orders. It was inexplicably erotic. The lieutenant’s power over her was absolute.

  As the caning continued, Emily found herself floating, as though watching from outside herself. She could take this; perhaps she was toughening up. Trevelyan was doing what he had promised her father he would do: making a man of her. There was something poetic about that.

  A particularly hard stroke forced another cry from her and she cursed herself for her weakness. She heard the bosun counting the strokes, but the numbers meant nothing to her. Intense as the pain was, Emily felt invigorated. It was the ultimate challenge. The proving ground. This was what she’d wanted. Her beloved lieutenant was having her flogged for insubordination and he was overseeing the punishment personally. Had he been waiting for the opportunity as well, to do his duty by the faint-hearted boy?

  Harmwell counted ten and Emily breathed deeply, pacing herself for the final two strokes. She could imagine the spectacle she made – her bottom turned well up, her tight breeches inviting the sting of the cane. Trevelyan had no idea he was watching a girl’s bottom and the secret knowledge gave Emily a lewd little thrill. She squeezed her thighs against the cannon, stimulating herself as the penultimate stroke fell.

  ‘Eleven,’ counted Harmwell.

  Emily held her breath for the last stroke, but the lieutenant interrupted.

  ‘The final stroke,’ he said, ‘is always the hardest. Make this one count, Mr Harmwell.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  She sensed the cane drawing back and she gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.

  The last stroke slashed through the air and into her bottom, its impact echoing in her head like a musket shot. She was lost in a strange haze of pain spiced with pleasure. It was not unlike being drunk. Her body was tingling and the throbbing in her sex was almost unbearable. She longed to rub herself against the cold metal of the cannon, to tighten her legs round it until the pleasure exploded within her. But she would have to wait. She would take care of it later that night, in her hammock in the midshipmen’s berth.

  The bosun gave a little cough and Emily shook her head to clear it.

  ‘You may stand up, Mr Vane,’ said the lieutenant.

  She slid to her feet and stood up shakily. Then she raised her eyes to look Trevelyan in the face. It was important to regain her dignity.

  ‘Have you revised your opinion of navigation, Mr Vane?’ the lieutenant asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. I most certainly have, sir.’

  He eyed her sternly for a few moments before addressing the bosun. ‘Leave us, Mr Harmwell.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  They were alone. The silence quickly became oppressive. A bead of sweat rolled down her face and she dared not rub it away.

  At last he spoke. ‘Well, Mr Vane?’

  Was it her imagination or had he emphasised the ‘Mr’?

  ‘S-sir?’

  ‘Look at me when you’re spoken to, lad.’

  Emily tried not to blush, but it was impossible. Warmth flooded her face as she raised her eyes.

  The lieutenant looked as austere as ever, yet there was a strange light in his eyes. ‘Did that satisfy your curiosity?’

  She swallowed. ‘My – curiosity, sir?’

  ‘Yes, your curiosity. Or have you forgotten our conversations in your father’s library?’

  Horrified, Emily lowered her head. She didn’t know what to say.

  The silence was broken by a harsh bark of laughter and she looked up, startled.

  ‘You took that as well as any boy,’ said Trevelyan, smiling broadly. ‘I had my suspicions from the first, but your insubordination gave you away. Your brother would never have dared.’

  Emily turned scarlet. ‘I don’t know what to say, sir.’

  ‘You might thank me.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He nodded in acknowledgment. ‘And now I should like to examine Mr Harmwell’s handiwork.’

  She blinked. ‘Sir?’

  Trevelyan gestured at the cannon. ‘We’ll have your breeches down, Emily.’

  Amazed that she could possibly flush any deeper, she hesitated.

  The lieutenant’s expression grew severe again and he drew himself up. ‘That was an order, Mr Vane.’

  She gulped. ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  Then she turned away and her hands fluttered to her waist to unfasten her breeches. She looked nervously down the length of the gundeck.

  ‘We’re alone,’ Trevelyan reassured her. ‘Continue.’

  It was so strange, baring herself like this before a man. She moved as though in a dream state, undoing the buttons at her knees. Her breeches pooled round her ankles. She’d done this often enough in her fantasies, but the reality was embarrassing, excruciating.

  ‘Back in position,’ Trevelyan ordered.

  Emily did as she was told and her breeches slid down over her shoes. With her bottom on display and her bare thighs wrapped lewdly around the gun, the position was positively obscene. She moaned in exquisite shame as she lowered her forehead to the cannon. The barrel seemed warmer now and its hard surface pressed into her exposed sex.

  She gave a little cry of surprise when she felt Trevelyan’s hand against her bottom. His fingers traced the marks left by the cane and she shuddered at his touch.

  ‘A commendable job,’ he pronounced. ‘Our Mr Harmwell has a strong arm.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Emily said with a gulp.

  The lieutenant continued to examine the marks – slowly, thoroughly. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and squeezed firmly, making her gasp. The blood pounded in her head and again she felt faint. Then his fingers did the unthinkable. They slipped down along her crease and in between her legs.

  Instinctively, Emily cried out and reached behind to shield herself, rising up out of her position.

  ‘Oh, no,’ chided the lieutenant, smacking her smartly on her tender backside. ‘Stay where you are.’

  Mortified, she obeyed.

  ‘Perhaps you need restraining,’ he suggested.

  Her ears burned at those words. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him reach for a coil of rope. Her breathing grew shallow as he crouched beside her and tied her wrists beneath the barrel, so that she embraced the cannon. Then he resumed his examination.

  His skilful hands explored her sex, probing and fondling the slick folds. Emily stiffened and made a little whimper. But she didn’t protest; she didn’t dare risk breaking the spell.

  The ropes let her imagine that this was just another part of her punishment. She pulled at them to reassure herself that she was truly at his mercy.

  His fingers described careful little circles over and around the bud of her sex and she gasped at his expert stimulation. She hadn’t known such ecstasy was possible. Her mouth opened in a soundless moan as the attentive fingers slipped inside her. The pain in her bottom had subsided to a dull pulse that mirrored the throbbing in her sex. She writhed wantonly as his fingers worked in and out of her, making her body jerk with pleasure.

  Emily imagined that she was being caned again, this time bound naked to the gra
ting up on deck. The entire crew stood watching as the lieutenant painted stripes across her disobedient bottom, counting dispassionately while she yelped and writhed in delirious torment.

  When he withdrew his fingers, she squeezed her legs tightly around the gun, protesting with a petulant whimper.

  But he wasn’t finished with her. Again his fingers slid inside where she was warm and hungry. And this time his other hand caressed her as well, spreading her open and tweaking her little nub, hard. His attentions elicited gasps of alternating pleasure and pain and Emily threw her head back, arching against him, urging his fingers deeper inside her.

  She was climbing fast, straining violently at the ropes, drowning in the liberation of total surrender. All at once the climax overtook her and the blood pounding in her ears sounded like the firing of the ship’s guns.

  For a long time neither of them said a word. Emily hung limply over the cannon, exhausted and panting. Trevelyan untied her hands. She stood on unsteady legs as she put her breeches back on and replaced her cocked hat.

  ‘I hope you don’t think that’s the end of the matter,’ he said gravely.

  Misunderstanding, Emily’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, sir, you wouldn’t tell the captain …’

  Trevelyan gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘Probably not. I expect we can come to some arrangement. We can discuss it tonight. Report to my cabin at two bells in the first watch.’

  Emily flushed. She felt her sex moistening again at the prospect. ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  ‘Navigation is important, Mr Vane,’ he said. ‘But action at close quarters is the true test of any officer.’

  Fiona Locke’s short stories have appeared in numerous Wicked Words collections. Her first novel, Over the Knee, is published by Nexus Enthusiast.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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  Epub ISBN 9780753524282

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Black Lace books contain sexual fantasies.

  In real life, always practise safe sex.

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2007 by Black Lace Books

  This edition published in 2012 by Black Lace,

  an imprint of Ebury Publishing

  A Random House Group Company

  O © Nuala Deuel

  Life Boat © Virginia St George

  Doctor’s Orders © Jessica Donnolly

  Pumps © Monica Belle

  Lovely Cricket © Jan Bolton

  Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter © Fiona Locke

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9780352341266

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