Against the Wind Read online

  As he learned almost immediately, Emily was a very willing student. A virgin for too long, and eager to make up for those lost moments, she met his every move with a healthy and undisguised lust that both charmed and flattered him.

  “It’s not a very pretty thing, of course,” she observed, inspecting his penis again as he lay next to her after their second bout of love making. “Do they all look like that?”

  Ethan laughed. “Approximately. There are differences in length, circumference, and color, of course, but in a general sense, they’re much the same the world over, I suppose.”

  Emily thought for a moment, and then smiled, a bit shyly. “You spoke of the item’s relative size, I believe?”

  Ethan nodded, amused at where she was going with the inquiry.

  “I wonder,” she began. “If I may ask, is this…is your own particular item, so to speak, of an average size, or larger, perhaps? From your experience?” She blushed, her eyes demurely lowered.

  “That is a subject of a great deal of discussion among men, my love,” Ethan explained, “and one upon which it is considered unseemly to boast. Only a young woman of no upbringing at all would ask such a vulgar and intrusive question. If I weren’t so tired, that unladylike inquiry would earn you a stinging bottom.”

  “Ethan!” she cried. “How am I to learn things if…”

  With a groan, he answered her. “All right! Average, I would say. Perhaps a bit more than that, or so I would like to think. And please try not to appear disappointed, Emily. It’s a matter of some importance and sensitivity among we men. But surely, at your age, you’ve seen…”

  Emily blushed. “No, Ethan. My father, being a devout servant of the Lord, brought each of us up to know very little about such things. I tried to spy once on some local boys as they swam in the river, but the filthy little beasts caught me and threatened to tattle to Mother if I didn’t show them my…well, to expose either my bosom or my bottom. Given such a disagreeable choice, I opened just the first few buttons of my bodice and displayed my newly budding breasts, but that apparently didn’t satisfy them, so they dashed off to tell Mother, who made me copy one hundred Bible verses on the subject of modesty. Later, while I was at the convent school, I volunteered to read to our poor, hospitalized soldiers, and once, when the young corporal to whom I was reading fell asleep, I succumbed to an unholy impulse to peek beneath the dressing of his wound. The young man had suffered an unfortunate but minor injury to his own item. Well, in any event, my crime was witnessed, and the priest in charge suggested a severe strapping.”

  “I’m breathless with apprehension,” Ethan exclaimed. “What happened?”

  Emily smiled wickedly. “I was able to blame another girl named Louisa, who looked remarkably like me in that silly veil we wore, and I’m told that she had her bared buttocks thrashed nearly raw when she was sent home in disgrace. Poor Louisa was a very bland sort of girl—a goodie-goodie, we called her, and she had this nasty habit of sucking her teeth, so I didn’t feel in the least bit sorry for her.

  “So,” she said with a sigh, “you can understand why I’ve arrived at this point in time in such an ignorant state.” She looked down again to study his member more carefully. “It appears to be resting, now. May I touch it?” she asked, then lowered her eyes again. “Or, perhaps, kiss it?”

  Ethan grinned. “Any time you wish, darling, other than when we’re out in public. You may consider it yours, to do with as you like. I must warn you, though. If you touch it, and especially if you kiss it, it will awaken quickly, and require further attention.”

  She nodded. “And then get lovely and large again? Although, I have heard it said, actually, that size is not always the most important aspect. Is it better, then, would you say, to be small, or large?”

  “Come, Emily,” Ethan said, “as a young woman who prides herself on her powers of scientific reasoning, I should think the answer to that would be rather obvious. Especially after…” He pointed down to the bed between them.

  “Larger, then?” she persisted. “Larger is considered more…”

  “Yes,” he said. “Larger is better. Certainly from the male side of the issue, and probably from the female.”

  Emily frowned. “Why is it, then, that women just don’t go about looking for a gentleman whose member is of the larger sort?”

  “Because, then” he said, pulling her beneath him again. “The lady’s husband would have to spank the wandering little wench to within an inch of her life.”

  Later, with Ethan feeling a bit worn after their third energetic bout of the afternoon, she apologized to him for her earlier rudeness.

  “I am sorry if I offended you by saying that your… that it wasn’t pretty. In its own way, I suppose, it’s quite handsome.”

  Ethan laughed. “The word is ‘penis,’ Emily, and my grandmother always said that ‘handsome is as handsome does’.”

  “Yes,” Emily agreed, beaming. “I had that very thought, myself. Perhaps with a few more minutes rest, sweetheart, you will be ready to…?”

  It was almost light when Emily finally fell asleep in Ethan’s arms. As she slept, a very tired and very happy Ethan McAllister watched her, stroking her hair softly as he pondered the remarkable and wondrous change that had come about in his life in the short weeks since they sailed from Nantucket.

  He woke to her soft kiss on his mouth, and found himself immediately erect at her touch. Life was going to be very busy for a while, there was little doubt about it.

  Later, Emily sat cross-legged on the bed, and told him something of her childhood in Nantucket.

  “I’m afraid that you’ve taken on a dreadful burden, Ethan. I can show you letters from all of my teachers, telling what a demon I was, and warning my poor parents that I was going to hell for certain…and this, by age nine, mind you!”

  Ethan placed a soft kiss on the silken warmth of her hip. “Even as a girl, were you never corrected?” he laughed.

  Emily smiled. “Ah, but you forget that I was always a clever girl, and an excellent liar, both of which traits are sometimes necessary to my sex. Poor, dear Father was quite besotted with me, and besides, it is a tenet of our faith to abhor violence, you know. Neither I, nor either of my badly misbehaved siblings were ever, as you say, ‘corrected,’ physically. I do believe, however, that my sorely vexed mother might have taken the occasional sturdy willow switch to our bottoms, had Father not objected.

  “When I was fifteen, though, I entered the convent school, having taken it into my foolish head to become a nun. We are not of the Roman faith, of course, but Father gave his permission—possibly preferring my being a nun to being the unrepentant heathen I was at the time. The sisters were not quite as easy to fool as Father was, though, and I was often among those who suffered at the stern hand of Sister Ursula, the Mistress of Postulants. We were made to lower our woolen stockings and lift our skirts to our knees while Sister switched our legs mercilessly. I realize that it may not sound a dreadful punishment to you, but Sister Ursula was of strong German stock, and I went to bed more than once with my legs painfully striped from thigh to ankle.

  “You will no doubt believe me when I say that I was a most unpromising nun. Once, during my stay there, I was sent to Mother Superior’s office to receive six strokes with a terrifying wooden paddle, which Sister Ursula applied with great relish. Two of my treacherous schoolmates held my arms, with me facedown across the desk, while Sister Ursula opened my drawers, bared my poor bottom in the most humiliating manner imaginable, and applied the six with exceptional vigor. I made no sound, nor would I have, had she beaten me to death, but my bottom was aflame and sorely bruised. The following day, I dispatched a letter to Father, instructing him to fetch me home at once. It had begun to appear that I would make a rather poor nun.”

  Ethan kissed her very gently. “I’m sorry to hear that you were beaten so unjustly, darling.”

  Emily laughed. “Oh, I was quite guilty, exceedingly guilty, even. Only my own adroit
lies spared me the convent’s maximum of twenty hard strokes.”

  “So,” he said, with a grin. “ Perhaps I should see to it that you receive that justified fourteen, with another six as a penance? Now, possibly, while your remorse is still strong?”

  Emily removed herself quickly to the other side of the bed.

  “No, thank you, Ethan,” she said solemnly. “Though the misdeed does lies heavy on my conscience, the deep burden of remorse is mine alone to bear.”

  “A clever reply,” Ethan chuckled, “and probably blasphemous. It seems the convent has done little for your piety, or your honesty. A more secular schoolmaster, such as I, would have turned you across my lap and paddled your naked and devious backside once a day, at a minimum.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied. “But I have led an exemplary life since that time. Oh, I know that you’re thinking that I’m no better behaved, and that may be true, but I am breathtakingly honest in most of my dealings. Don’t laugh, Ethan. It’s true! I am quite unpopular because of it, actually.”

  McAllister laughed. “I would like to point out, my dear, that you have lied to me consistently, since the day we met. If I had spanked your adorable ass for every lie you’ve foisted on me, I would be able to read by its permanent glow.”

  “Untrue,” Emily protested. “I simply reserve the right to distort the truth when that truth may result in bodily injury. I said that I was honest, Ethan, not feeble-minded. A lady must sometimes protect herself—by guile, if necessary.”

  “Guile, or bald-faced lies. Call them what you will,” he said. “I regard a lie as a spankable offense of the first order, and fully intend to deal accordingly with them in the future. Do we understand one another?”

  “Yes, Ethan, Captain, sir!” she said, snapping him a smart salute.

  Ethan swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled her across his knee. “You are a very slow learner, my love.” With that, he flipped her gown up, raised his hand high and brought it down with a tremendous crack across first the right, and then the left cheek of her naked buttocks. Emily shrieked, swore, and threatened retaliation, but with each insult she threw at him, he simply renewed his efforts and spanked harder, until finally, she uttered the hated words.

  “Please! Ow! Oh, all right, Ethan! I’m sorry!”

  With one final slap on her brightly splotched rear, he dumped her on her feet. “Now, that didn’t take long, did it? I believe we’re beginning to reach an understanding, you and I. Take your bath and get your drawers on, love. I’ve worked up an appetite. We’ll breakfast in the dining room, in ten minutes.”

  Emily pulled her shift up and rubbed her backside with great care.

  “You beat me, then offer to feed me! What kind of brute are you, Ethan McAllister?”

  He laughed. “A hungry one. And an irritated one, who will have his breakfast at once, or take up the issue of that missing convent paddling.”

  Emily touched herself again, and winced. “Yes, Ethan.”

  As it was a fine, warm day, they walked about the town after they had breakfasted, and when they returned to their rooms, made love again. Emily had already noted that Ethan made love with the same attention to detail he showed in everything else he did, (including, she thought ruefully, in spanking her.) Ethan’s methods were thorough, beginning with several passionate kisses and progressing southward, until every inch of her willing body had been explored by his strong hands and gently searching mouth.

  Afterward, he presented her a beautifully bound book he had found in a village shop.

  “What language is this?” she asked, her eyes roving hungrily over the colorfully illustrated pages. “Is it simply a book of art?”

  “Of sorts. It’s a book by a wealthy Indian gentleman by the name of Mallanaga. The book is known as the Kama Sutra, in which the writer describes, in rather elaborate detail, the unusual and adventurous attitudes, ah…positions in which the act of love can be achieved.”

  “Adventurous?” She leafed through the pages, pausing now and then to turn the book at another angle. “Perhaps, in India it is regarded as adventurous, but the ladies and gentlemen in these illustrations appear to be quite…athletically inclined, as well. My word! Look at this one! I should never get all my parts back in their proper places!”

  Ethan looked at the illustration she had pointed to, and nodded. “Yes, I suppose athletic might be a better word for that particular one. But these are only suggestions. It isn’t necessary to do everything the book.”

  “Don’t be silly, Ethan. Of course it’s necessary. I have already wasted far too much time in my life. I want to start at the very first page, and in no time, we will have tried them all, with the possible exception of that one, of course.” She yawned, and looked at the picture once more, appraisingly. “Do you know, Ethan, I believe I am developing a genuine taste for this,” she observed, in what Ethan would have called an understatement.

  “You certainly are, sweetheart, but there are other things I must attend do before we sail again. And sometime before then, I need at least one good night’s rest. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, this has been a pleasant but rather tiring week.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ethan! Please forgive me!” she cried. “I’ve been greedy, and thoughtless. You shall have a lovely nap this afternoon, after lunch. Well, perhaps not immediately after lunch, of course. I would very much like to look at that lovely book of pictures again, and see if we might…”

  Ethan sighed. “Yes, Emily.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, with her rigging freshly repaired and her eager crew reassembled, the Liza sailed gracefully out of the harbor, bound at last for Halifax. It was a glorious day, with tall clouds towering over Louisbourg’s crumbling fortress and a brisk wind promising a quick journey. Ethan and John Turner walked the decks together early in the morning, peering into the rigging to check that all had been done correctly, and ordering necessary adjustments and trim. Perhaps because of the haste of their long delayed departure, and perhaps because they were both distracted by checking the ship’s gear, neither Ethan nor John noticed Emily’s absence.

  Inadvertently, one of the cabin boys had been left behind.

  Some time later, the Liza’s errant cabin boy stood alone and bewildered on the wharf, gazing dolefully out to sea. She awoke few hours earlier to Ethan’s kiss as he prepared to leave to get to the boat. He had reminded her that they were setting sail at precisely nine o’clock, and told her that Turner would come to make sure she was up. Later, she had wakened with a start and realizing that it must be close to nine o’clock based on the slant of the sun through the window. She had collected her belongings and ran as fast as she could to the dock. But, now in the far distance, unfurled and whipping in the strong morning breeze, she could still make out the narrow blue banner atop the Liza’s mizzen mast as the ship disappeared over the horizon. Emily sank down on the nearest piling and began to weep with frustration.

  The Liza ran with the wind most of that morning, and by early afternoon, had made close to fifty miles. Ethan had come up on deck only twice, to have a word with John Turner and later, to check their progress.

  “It’s shaping up as an excellent day,” Turner observed. “We’ve left that threatened squall behind now, for sure.”

  McAllister nodded. “Thank God. It’s been a hell of a trip, John. Do you think perhaps we’re getting too old for this?”

  Turned grinned. “You must speak for yourself, Ethan, my friend, but I’ll be bored to tears a week after we dock in Baltimore. It appears you’ll be rather upset to discharge a certain passenger at Nantucket. Am I right?”

  The captain smiled. “We’ll see what develops, John. I haven’t even actually asked her, and I’ll need to speak to her family, of course. Which reminds me, have you seen the lady this afternoon, or has Johnson banished her to the galley again? The man absolutely refuses to believe that there are women who can’t cook! I fear we may all be poisoned if s he keeps trying.”
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  “No, I haven’t seen her about, recently,” Turner replied. “The youngsters are working below, though. She’s probably with them.”

  At that moment, the bosun passed, and Ethan called to him. “Mr. Johnson! Have you set Miss Fowler loose on the poor cook, again? He’s threatened to jump ship if we inflict her help on him once more.”

  “No, Cap’n,” Johnson replied. “I’ve not seen the lass all day. She’s not in the forecastle with the young’uns, though. Where might she be?”

  McAllister groaned. “Please tell me that you’ve not completely lost the lady, Mr. Johnson, however much you might like to. Go and find her and send her on deck to me, would you, please?”

  “Aye, Cap’n, I’ll do that, and I may just give ‘er a good boot in the rear, while I’m about it. She’s got a way of lollin’ about when I ain’t lookin’ too close. I’ll give her a bit of what fer, if it’s all right by you.”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Johnson,” Ethan nodded. “Whatever you feel is needed. Discipline is your department.”

  Turner folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “You’re a fraud, McAllister. An absolute fraud! Do you truly believe that every man aboard doesn’t know that there’s something afoot between the captain and the luscious cabin boy?”

  Ethan flushed, and cleared his throat.

  A few minutes later, Johnson returned. Miss Fowler had not been seen by her fellow cabin boys or by anyone else since the previous night, nor was her gear anywhere to be seen aboard. As he listened to Johnson’s report, John Turner’s handsome face went suddenly pale.

  “Oh, my God, Ethan! I’ve done something terrible!