Voyage to Perdition

My current WIP is set in the 1920’s. It’s the jazz age, the age of flappers and speakeasies, of bathtub gin and gangsters. This is an intriguing time and setting for writers of spanking erotica or spanking romance. There is so much that can happen. Women’s suffrage has just become a reality and women are entering a new era  and enjoying newfound freedom from convention. Unfortunately, or fortunately for the writer, many of these flappers are moving a little too far too fast which brings on the ire of fathers, boyfriends and husbands. Possibilities abound.

Here is a story I wrote several years ago. You will find it in The Romance of Spanking, The Complete Collection. This volume is an excellent deal — for $2.99 you get 20 stories of hot spanking romance.



Here is:

                                          Voyage to Perdition
Abigail stood on the dock with her sister Millie, and gazed wistfully across the lake at the large white house on the hill. It belonged to Vincent Bartley—- of the Newport Bartleys’.  It was said that he gave the best parties in upstate New York. Very eligible men from the city, way down state. Hot jazz bands. illegal liquor. All manner of seductive delights awaited an eager pair of flappers like Abigail and Millie. Abby was twenty, Millie, nineteen. By now they should have been hip deep in the summer party season and that had to include Vincent Bartley and his famous parties. But they might as well have been a million miles away. The lake was fed by a creek that flowed out of a ravine that cut off the Barrington house from Bartley’s property. The only way there was all the way into the village and over the bridge—as if they would be permitted to go anyway. Instead they were stuck here for the summer, at the family summer home up the Hudson and on the eastern edge of the Catskills.
There was no one around except for Aunt Beatrice and Mr. Delany. Aunt Beatrice was horribly old fashioned and, at least as far as Millie was concerned, Mr. Delany was a bore. He was no fun at all. Gone walking for hours at a time with his sketch pad. Entirely too serious if you asked Millie. But, as she pointed out, he was handsome and cut a rather striking figure.
Abby had to agree about that last part. He had a look about him, and when he gazed at her with those steely grey eyes, well, it caused a bit of a girlish flush down south. He was witty and engaging at meals, and Abby liked to think that she jousted with him competently, giving tit for tat. But Abby was curious and sensed something amiss. Just where did he go?  She was the more serious of the two, and inquisitive—she fancied herself as a thoroughly modern woman. She’d be a professional, a news reporter perhaps. Millie thought only of parties and fun. But Abby was determined to find out what Mr Delaney was all about.
Nate Delany stood on the veranda of the Barrington summer house and gazed across the water at Vincent Bartley’s mansion. So close, yet so far. He needed to get inside. The cover of being an artist drawing wildlife for a magazine and renting out the Barrington’s guest house was good cover, but he hadn’t been aware of the geography. Neither had his employer, the Prendergast Detective Agency. He had been tasked to discover whether Bartley was connected to powerful New York bootleggers, crime families that imported illegal liquor from Canada. They suspected that the Bartley estate was a terminus and storage area for high quality whiskey brought over the border. From there it was supposedly distributed to New York, Boston and Philadelphia. Nate had been hired by Calvin Barrington. He had become suspicious of his new neighbor, and alarmed about the possible criminal activity occurring in close proximity to his summer house. And he was worried for his daughters. Thus Nate was half investigator, half bodyguard.
 Gazing at the dock he saw Millie and Abby. They sat on the dock, feet in the water. Next to the boat. Yes, the boat. It was just a rowboat, but it would do. It gave him an idea. Boats plied the lake all the time. People fished for recreation. No one would take note of just another fisherman out on the lake. Perhaps he could start out fishing near the Bartley dock and see who took note. Then try a crossing at dusk. It could work, he decided.
“We could try the boat,” said Millie.
“You forget what happened the last time we took out in that boat,” said Abby.
“That was years ago and father is away in the city,” sniffed Millie.
Abby had not forgotten, and she winced at the memory. Calvin Barrington might be rich now, but he had risen from country stock. And the Barrington house still sported a woodshed as it had five years ago when Abby and Millie had taken the boat out without permission, which was strictly forbidden. The wind had come up and they had foundered. Father and Burt, the caretaker, had discovered them out there and had hauled them in. After tearful hugs and a warm bath, however, it had been a solemn march out to the woodshed.
The woodshed sported a large chopping block and it was there that Calvin Barrington sat with a short strap in his hand and lectured his teenage daughters on the folly of taking that boat out. Then one at a time he had taken each girl across his knee. He had raised nightgowns to reveal well fleshed and rounded bottoms, bottoms that made him realize that his little girls were not so little anymore. Then he had spanked Abby and Millie soundly on each of their bare bottoms with that little strap. Abby recalled the stinging pain of that spanking as the strap had cracked down on her bare seat. It had seemed to go on forever. The splats of the wicked strap sounded like pistol shots in the small woodshed, the sting making her wail and beg her father for mercy. Then she watched as Millie wriggled across her father’s knee as the short strap made its point again and again. Calvin Barrington had been determined to teach his daughters a lesson in obedience, and the strappings had continued until two girlish behinds were streaked with red and tears were freely flowing, along with promises of future obedience. They had never taken the boat out alone again.
Still, thought Abby, it was different now. Why, they were practically grown women. Surely that old rule did not apply now.
As it turned out, fate intervened. Two weeks later Millie chanced to meet Vincent Bartley in an ice cream parlor while on a shopping trip into the village. “He’s a dreamboat,” gushed Millie. “And he has invited me to his party this Saturday.”
“And just how are you going to get there?” asked Abby. “And what about Aunt Beatrice? She will forbid it.”
“She goes to bed early, and there is the boat. After all it is 1923. We women can do as we please now,” said Millie.
Abby huffed, “Probably not, I’m sure.” She was miffed that she had not been invited too. She was just as pretty as Millie.
But there was something else, too. Abby was focused on the mysterious Mr Delany. Where does he go and why? She wondered. He was no wildlife artist. She had snuck into the guest house and looked. There were drawings, but not of birds and animals. He had made sketches of a house and outbuildings, noting roads and access points. He was spying, and it looked as if his interest was in the Bartley estate. I want to follow him and get the scoop, she decided. Then I’ll approach the Times with the story and they’ll be so impressed, who knows? Maybe they’ll hire me on the spot.
A week later….
Nate Delany entered the Algonquin hotel and looked around. There he was, his contact. He showed him the sketches. The G-man nodded. “I think they’ll be bringing in a big shipment tonight during one of Bartley’s famous parties,” said Nate. “He uses the cover of vehicles coming and going to mask the deliveries. This might be the break you’re looking for.” The G-man agreed. “We’ll be ready,” he said.
He drove his car back to the Barrington’s house and parked. Someone was in the guesthouse. He could see shadows moving inside. He crept silently up to the front door. It was open. He stepped in and crossed to his bedroom. Peering inside he beheld a figure going through his private papers.
“What are you doing here, Miss Barrington?”
The figure froze. She gasped and turned to see who had spoken. “Uh, Mr Delany, ah….I was just….”
“Snooping in my private things?” He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “And it’s not the first time is it?”
“I….I know who you are,” she said, drawing herself up and attempting to regain some composure. “You are a private detective. You are investigating Vincent Bartley. I’ll bet my father sent you.”
“What I should do, Miss Barrington, is put you right across my knee and paddle your behind for pawing through my private papers.” He looked like he meant it.
Abby’s eyes grew wide and she gasped. “You wouldn’t dare! I’m…I’m…”
“You’re a meddlesome young lady who could probably use a good spanking. You and your sister both. Where is she?”
“I—I don’t know. She was invited to Bartley’s party.”
“How would she get there? Walk? The only way without scrambling through a ravine is across the lake.” He had a sudden thought and turned toward the door. Outside it was still light. He gazed at the dock. “The boat,” he said. “Where is it?”
Abby stood in the doorway and craned her neck. “Oh, my,” she said. The boat was gone. “She must have taken it—the boat I mean. We talked about it. Oh, no.”
“You knew?” Nate could not believe this. One sister takes off by herself in the boat, the other rummages through his private papers. He knew what he’d do if he were Calvin Barrington. These girls would not sit for a week. Then he refocused. The raid. The G-men were going to hit Bartley’s at the height of the party. God knows what would happen if he didn’t pull her out of there before then. He’d have to take a car.  He hurried toward the garage.
Abby ran after him. “Where are you going?”
He stopped and pointed toward the house. “Stay here. I’m going to get your sister.”
Abby didn’t slow down. “I’m going with you.”
Nate had reached the garage. Abby followed. He turned and put his hands on his hips. “No, you’re not.”
“I am, too. She’s my sister. She might not come with you. You need me to help find her. Besides, I’m going to be a reporter and this is a big story.”
Oh, for God’s sake, thought Nate. Two foolish flappers—one a party girl, the other thinks she’s a news reporter.  He gestured. “Get in, then. Do exactly what I tell you.”
Nate drove with determination. Based upon his knowledge of the terrain he took a back way to the Bartley estate and eased into some woods on the edge of the property. He could see the dock and the green boat was indeed there. The little madam had rowed across the lake to get to the party. And the party was in full swing with scores of young men and flappers dancing and drinking. A jazz band was playing all the latest numbers and it looked like the booze was flowing. Somewhere in all of that was an underage Millie Barrington.
“We are going to find your sister. Stick close to me.” Nate hopped out and helped Abby from the car. They emerged from woods at the back lawn of the house. Although they got some questioning looks from some guests, most were too preoccupied to notice. “I don’t see her,” said Nate, scanning the crowd.
“She could be inside,” said Abby. “I’ll go look.” She started toward the house.
Nate grabbed her arm. “I told you, stick with me. You have no idea who frequents these parties. I do. If we get separated go stand by the bandstand, understand?”
Abby jerked her arm loose and stamped her foot. “Look, Mr Detective, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” She turned abruptly and headed for the house. Nate swore under his breath. Bringing her was a bad idea. He lost her in the crowd.
Nate entered the house and wandered among the guests looking for either Abby or Millie or Bartley. Trying to blend in, he asked a few guests, “Say, old man, have you seen Vincent?” They shook their heads. The third time he hit pay dirt. “He’s with that new doll from across the lake. They went upstairs for a little…you know,” said a young dandy with a smirk.
Nate made his way upstairs. Through a closed door he heard what sounded like a slap, then crying. He heard a man say, “Well then why did you think I invited you?” and a female voice, obviously distressed, saying, “No, please—- leave me alone.” Nate pushed open the door. Inside were Vincent Bartley and Millie. She’d been crying and was rubbing her cheek. It bore a handprint.
“Who are you, sport?” said Bartley with a sneer. “Can’t you see I’m busy with the lady?”
“Nate!” exclaimed Millie.
“You know him?” said Bartley, incredulous.
“Come on Millie. It’s time to go.” Millie scurried over to Nate. “Don’t even think about it….sport,” said Nate, drawing himself up and clenching his fists. Bartley glared, but eyeing the broad shoulders and the determination on Delany’s face, he thought the better of it. Nate grabbed her hand and pulled her after him, down the stairs and through the house to the lawn.
“We have to get out of here. Now. Where is your sister?” Nate looked around frantically. He could see headlights in the distance coming closer. It would be chaos when the G-men got here.
“Abby is here?”
“You stay here by the bandstand. I’ll be back for you.” Nate hurried off. The worst place she could be was the outbuilding where the whiskey was being unloaded. He went there. As he suspected, there she was, up on her toes looking in through a window in the back. It was a miracle no one had seen her. He grabbed her from behind and clamped his hand over her mouth. “It’s me. Don’t scream. What are you doing here? I told you to stay put.”
Abby was too excited. “Don’t you see? Vincent Bartley is a bootlegger. Those are gangsters in there! Wow, what a story!”
“You little idiot!” Nate grabbed her around the waist and slung her over his shoulder.
“Hey! Put me down!” she shrieked.  She beat her fists on his back. He ignored her. He had to get clear before the raid started. There could be shooting. Nate half ran with Abby over his shoulder bleating in protest. He stopped for a moment and smacked Abby three times hard on her backside. She squealed. “Keep quiet! I found your sister. We’re getting out of here. I’m putting you down but do as I say.” And then all hell broke loose.
Nate now saw that there was no way to get to Millie. It was a melee with cops everywhere, guests running. By the time he had made the front lawn, Millie was being loaded into a paddy wagon. The local sheriff had been enlisted, it seemed. She would at least be safe in custody. Served her right. But things were still too chaotic. He heard shots fired.  He looked toward the lake. “We’re taking the boat” he said. “Come on.” Delany half drug Abby to the dock, got her in the boat and shoved off, rowing back toward the Barrington house. When they were away from the scene his attention turned to Abby.
“Just what did you think you were doing? I told you stay out front, by the bandstand.” Nate was boiling.
“I was getting the story—-until you showed up, Mr Cave Man. You—you spanked me! Oooh!” She lifted up and rubbed her bottom.
“You were going to be in the line of fire, Abby. I know what I’m doing and you don’t. I knew there would be a raid tonight. I knew there could be shooting. Did you?”
Abby pouted then turned her head and refused to even look at Nate as he rowed back, she was so mad. When they got to the dock, Nate stood up in the boat and tied up. “Give me your hand,” he said. “I’ll help you out.”
“No!” snorted Abby. “I can get out myself.” She shoved Nate for emphasis. Caught unawares, he toppled backwards into the water. Putting her hand over her mouth, Abby quickly climbed up onto the dock and ran for the safety of the house.
Moments later a dripping Nate Delany stood on the dock gazing at the fleeing figure and thinking about what he’d really like to do with Miss Abigail Barrington.footloose
Hours later Aunt Beatrice and Nate claimed Millie from the local jail. Nate had assured him that he had the permission of Calvin Barrington to bail her out. “Your father will be none too pleased, Millicent Barrington,” intoned Aunt Beatrice. “I can only imagine what he will do. A girl your age! Drinking, carrying on. Listening to that jazz music and cavorting with all sorts of unsavory characters.”
The sheriff listened, nodding. “If you ask me, what these flappers all need is a good tanning on their little bottoms. That would teach them. And miss, I hope that is what your father has in mind for you.”
“Well, I never,” huffed Millie. “I’m much too old for that.” The sheriff and Nate exchanged glances with raised eyebrows.
But the next morning it was two worried girls who stood in the study as Aunt Beatrice spoke with Calvin Barrington over the hand cranked telephone. “Yes Calvin, she did. Yes, in the boat. Alone.” Millie winced as she heard the one-sided conversation. “No, Mr Delaney took Abigail with him—to help find Millie. No, she did not go in the boat. They both came back in the boat.” Aunt Beatrice listened intently. “Yes, I agree, she should be. And soundly.” Aunt Bea gave Millie a sharp look. “But I can’t,” she said. “You know– my bursitis…. What? Yes, he’s here.” She handed Nate the telephone. “He wants to talk to you.”
Nate recounted the story of the evening from his perspective. Then he listened as his employer gave him some very explicit instructions. “I understand. You’re sure? Yes, sir, I’ll do my best.” He handed the phone back to Aunt Beatrice who listened, eyes growing wider by the minute. “Well, you know what’s best, Calvin.” Nate put the phone down.
Aunt Beatrice said, “You may stand over there, Abigail.” Abby and Millie stood there in shock as they watched Nate pick up an armless chair and plop it down in front of the study desk. Then he proceeded to roll up his right sleeve. The girls watched him with a growing sense of alarm.
While he did so, Aunt Beatrice addressed Millie. “I have spoken with your father, Millicent. He has decided that for sneaking out to that party, imbibing illegal spirits, taking the boat out by yourself and generally cavorting like a young hoyden, you are to be given a sound spanking.”
Millis gasped. A spanking?
“And because of my bursitis, it will not be my hairbrush that will be applied to your naughty posterior, Millicent Barrington. It will be Mr Delany’s right hand. You have it coming, my girl. The very idea….”
Millie gaped in horror. “No…oh, no…”
Nate fixed her with a grim expression. “Come here, Millie. Let’s get this over with.” He took her by the wrist and before she could react, Nate sat down and lifted her, placing her bottoms up across his thighs.
“Let me go!” she wailed. “You can’t do this!”
“I can and I will. Your father gave me explicit instructions.” With that Nate tossed Millie’s ankle length skirt up over her back to reveal a bottom clad in silk drawers. To Millie’s astonishment he inserted his fingers in the drawers and whisked them down to her knees revealing a very attractive bare bottom.
Millie squirmed frantically. Abby watched the scene, transfixed as Nate Delany raised his arm and brought his palm down on Millie’s bare seat with a loud smack! Then another smack! Then another. Millie shrieked. Abby saw Millie’s bottom quiver with repeated impacts from Nate’s sturdy palm. Part of her was horrified, but another part of her was fascinated by the  manhandling of her sister by the masterful Mr Delaney. His face wore a look of sheer determination as his palm splatted loudly, first on one bottom cheek, then the other.
Millie squealed and kicked her legs, but Nate held her down. He settled into a methodical and very thorough spanking of Millie’s bare bottom. He applied smack after smack to Millie’s reddening behind with a vigor that convinced Abby that her sister’s bottom must be stinging horribly. The humiliating spanking went on for several minutes during which Millie cried and pleaded while writhing shamelessly over Delaney’s knees. Finally, when her bottom was beet red and she’d been reduced to tearful sobbing, he stopped and put her on her feet. She shuffled from foot to foot frantically rubbing her inflamed behind.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Millie,” said Aunt Beatrice wagging her finger.
“Your father told me to tell you that you are to stand over there with your skirts well up for half an hour,” said Nate, pointing at the corner. Tearfully Millie obeyed. She shuffled to the corner sniffling, her beet red bottom on display.
Abby didn’t wait around. She bolted out of the study. “Now, where is that girl going?” said Aunt Beatrice. “Calvin did not say anything about giving her a spanking too.”
Nate shook his head. His face bore a wry smile. “She didn’t know that. I’m sure she thought she was next. There are a few things I need to get straightened out with her, though. I’ll see to her.” Aunt Beatrice raised her eyebrows as Nate strode out of the house in search of Abby. He caught up with her on the dock as she was frantically trying to untie the boat. He grabbed her by the waist just as she was about to get it loose.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he said.
“Let me go!” Abby struggled in his grip.
“Not until we have a reckoning, Abigail.” He pulled her along by her wrist.
“Where do you think you are taking me?” she protested, trying to jerk her arm free.
“A suitable place.” He stopped before a small outbuilding. Abby saw what it was. The woodshed. He hauled her inside and sat down on the chopping block. In one motion he lifted her up and placed her face down over his knees.
“No…no…” wailed Abby.
“You deserve this spanking, Abby Barrington,” said Nate lifting the back of her dress. “If you had done what I told you, Millie would not have been arrested and your father would not have had me spank her.”
Abby stopped her struggling for a moment. “Why?” she said, looking back at Nate.
“Because I would have taken both of you out of there in the boat and never told anyone. Instead I had to go searching for you, and Millie got arrested.”
A look of utter chagrin came over Abby’s face. It had been her fault. Nate was saying he would have covered for them both.
“On top of that,” he continued, “there is the snooping through my things, and my unfortunate swim in the lake.” He paused to let that sink in. “So get ready, Abby Barrington.” He inserted his fingers in her drawers and lifted her slightly.
Feeling the last layer of her modesty being peeled down to her knees Abby shrieked and redoubled her efforts to escape. It was impossible. Nate had her in an iron grip. She could only imagine the spectacle her fully nude bottom presented to Nate Delany, and she blushed furiously in embarrassment. Embarrassment gave way to shock, however as Delany’s palm connected with Abby’s bare bottom with a sharp smack!
Ow! The sting took her breath away. Then smack! Another blow impacted her opposite cheek. She squirmed. This was awful! Here she was, over this man’s knee with her dress up and her silk drawers at her knees. He could see everything. She didn’t have too much time to dwell on her predicament, however, as Nate set about applying a barrage of brisk smacks that stung her bare behind quite atrociously.
Nate gazed admiringly at the shapely bare bottom presented over his knee for correction. The bare cheeks jutted provocatively. What he’d really like to do was to kiss her. The girl was intelligent and pretty as they come, but she surely deserved a good warming for all the trouble she’d caused. He remembered the cold swim in the lake and that set his resolve. He raised his palm again and proceeded to spank the lovely cheeks with brisk smacks that cracked sharply in the enclosed space of the woodshed. He marveled as her wriggling fanny shuddered and quivered as his hand connected, sending little shock waves through the jiggling mounds.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Abby kicked her legs frantically and wriggled as Nate’s capable palm connected with her bare bottom in a brisk tattoo.
“Yeow!…Yeow! Stop!…” she wailed as the steady smack of Nate’s spanking hand burned her inflamed seat again and again. He continued for several minutes, smacking alternate cheeks then right in the center.
The spanks were really stinging now and Abby felt tears welling up. At the same time part of her realized that she deserved what her sister got, not to mention the foolish way she’d behaved with Mr Delany. Then the thought of a grown man spanking her bare bottom sent a surge of warmth through her lower regions. It was the same feeling she’d had when Nate Delany looked at her in a certain way, like a woman.
“I’m sorry….I’m sorry….,” she pleaded, finally. That was what Nate had been waiting for. He figured he’d spanked her bottom now for about as long as he’d spanked Millie. Her bottom was a cherry red and she was sobbing entreaties of forgiveness. He gave her five more slow measured spanks elicited abject wails and decided she’d had enough. He stood her on her feet. As her sister had done, she flung her hands behind her and rubbed furiously.
She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “For all of it. The snooping, the party, the lake.”
Nate put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You’re forgiven,” he said. “And, if you really want to be a reporter I know some people in the city. I think you’d be good. Actually, you might be an even better detective.”
She looked up into his eyes. Impulsively she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the lips. She pulled back for a moment and then they embraced, melting into each other’s arms. The kiss lasted a bit longer the second time. Then, just as abruptly, she pulled away, turned and fled, out of the woodshed and back to the house. Nate stared at the fleeing figure, entirely puzzled. I just spanked the woman on her bare bottom and she kisses me? Then runs off? Nate shook his head. I might be a very good detective, he thought, but some things, including apparently, women, are beyond my comprehension.
She was the last one in the office, it seemed. No, her ears told her that her husband was still rustling around. She was the managing partner of the Prendergast Detective Agency and her husband its chief investigator. They made a good team. It was December 5, 1933. Utah’s vote had made it official. Prohibition was now repealed. That reminded her. Her eyes fell to the photo on her desk. That old boat. You could see Bartley’s house up on the hill.
“Get a move on, wife. I’d like to get home sometime this year.” Her husband’s voice boomed through the now empty office.
Her natural feistiness flared. “And just who are you to be shouting orders? I’m not ready yet.”
He stuck his head in the door. “Oh? Do I have to throw you over my shoulder and haul you out of here? You know what that leads to,” he said with a leer.
Oh, yes, she knew. A well warmed bottom and even hotter sex.
She smiled wickedly and issued her challenge. “Then come and get me, Mr Nate Delany.”
He advanced on her, taking up the challenge. “As you wish, Mrs Abigail Delany.”



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