Half Moon

Story from Janus 41.

Half Moon
by Nicholas Holland

Editor's note:

This story is the second in 3 long-range trilogy examining the faults, fortunes and fated fustigations of that really naughty nymph, Victoria Moon, who at her age surely should know better. Readers may turn to Janus 25 for the preceding story. The author is an astronomer who writes fiction very occasionally in between gazing at the stars.

The final instalment, Full Moon, will be published eventually.

* * *

IT WAS three years later...

The sun lanced through the tiny porthole with blinding intensity. Victoria Moon pushed the light-sensitive sun glasses firmly against the bridge of her perfect nose and turned back into the spacious cabin. Apart from four inch stiletto-heeled shoes, the sun glasses were all that Victoria wore. As usual the freedom of nudity served to excite and stimulate her and she felt a sensuous warmth that wasn't entirely due to the Mediterranean sun. Her bikini lay in a pool of expensive silk at the foot of a double bed and in a moment of impatient petulance she kicked it across the cabin. Where the hell was he? She wasn't accustomed to waiting for any man and under normal circumstances she would have left ten minutes ago. These weren't normal circumstances of course and Victoria chose to wait. She would wait as long as she had to. Perhaps her destiny and the future direction of her life depended on it.

With a sigh of reluctant acceptance Victoria lay back against the soft pillows of the huge double bed. The deep mattress and cool cotton of the sheets embraced her nakedness, inviting her to stretch luxuriously and relax. Reflected in the tall mirrors of the fitted mahogany wardrobe, Victoria's body curved with feline grace, its golden hue relieved only by the templates of bikini white and the rich tufts of gold at the base of her belly. She pushed the sun glasses up into soft blonde curls and closed her eyes. Sleep was not something she had time to indulge in. She would not... could not... must not allow herself the luxury of sleep to accelerate the passage of time. To think was more important. Essential.

To some people three years is a long time. Boredom and the role of ordinariness expand and prolong the tedium of dissatisfaction. Victoria Moon had no such problem. The three years since Adam Krane had persuaded her to walk into the inviting web of his peculiar practices and philosophies had passed quickly. Naturally she still hated him.

Victoria's thoughts rolled gently across her mind, unfolding and splashing against her senses, creating images that in turn excited and tormented her. She remembered that bright evening three years and one month ago that had since become the 'first day of the rest of her life'. The small office where she had received the kiss of destiny that flawed the virginal perfection of her pink flesh had seemed a heaven in the hell of her boredom. In reality and with the change of time, Adam Krane's office now seemed a tatty preface to the space and luxury that enveloped her and which she would soon find impossible to live without. The charisma and magnetic power of the man was not there to overpower her and colour her thoughts. She despised him and yet she knew that he had provided her with an excuse and a new escape route to be herself. She had no feelings of guilt for the way she regarded him. Guilt though would always provide her with the excuse to seek out what he had so necessarily provided. She would never admit to herself the real reason behind the inexplicable series of events that had since shaped her life. There had always been the guilt and then the cleansing. The cleansing was important because without it the guilt would gradually torment her and she would be impossible to understand. Indiscretion would compound indiscretion and the strong hand of a mentor or Svengali was necessary to return her to the status quo. Victoria Moon needed the hand of discipline. The realisation flashed across her mind like the lash of a cane.

After Adam Krane, Victoria's life had changed dramatically. A succession of boyfriends walked into and out of her life like so many migrating swallows. Purity of body evaporated with the simmering of hot sexuality, and the prize of sweet virginity was sacrificed at the altar of insensitive youth. He had been a soccer star and Victoria basked in the glow of his reflected glory. He caned her and beat her and took sex from her with all the subtlety of a charging bull. Victoria knew that love was something that he probably couldn't even spell, let alone understand. She stayed with him for six months, not because she loved him, but because of the lifestyle that he enjoyed. She left him at a time of her own convenience. As was her way in those days of selfishness and insecurity, Victoria received a better offer and simply took advantage of it. Circumstances – though Victoria preferred the word fate – caused her to meet Henry Pountain at the country club which her husband had grudgingly allowed her to join. The age difference had not bothered her because Victoria felt that she had no one to answer to but herself. Her relationship with her husband had been one of sex and continuous beatings. As long as she was around for him to 'show-off' at the many social events his highly successful football club staged, that was all he seemed to care. Victoria half expected to be placed in the massive trophy cabinet after each usage.

The divorce had been quick and a lot less painful than her marriage. She was granted a small alimony although she hardly needed it – Henry's millions were more than sufficient recompense. They were married a few days after her decree nisi.

Life with Henry was idyllic. He was the complete antithesis of her first husband and for a while she delighted in his gentleness and generosity. He demanded nothing from her and in return he gave her everything that she had ever wanted. Increasingly though, Henry spent more and more time involved in the everyday affairs of his massive corporation. Boredom set in and Victoria's old restlessness returned. The infrequent love-making with her aging husband wasn't improved by the mild heart attack that Henry suffered because of overwork. Victoria's restlessness soon became frustration and once more she returned to the country club for diversions. There were many of them – perhaps too many. Mostly they were older than her and often in their forties. Virile young men were also welcome, attracted to her like bears to some exotic honey. But she used them and then discarded them, fluttering from one infatuation to the next.

Victoria remembered with little satisfaction. The guilt would not let her escape so easily. It haunted her like a nemesis, returning persistently and remorselessly. She turned languidly on the cool sheets to look in the mirror. Perhaps it showed? But all she saw was the golden perfection of glorious womanhood. The guilt was inside her – a malignant growth that had begun to eat into her soul and torture her mind. Henry was so kind to her and she really wasn't worthy of him. How could she cheat him the way she had? If he ever found out it would hurt him irreparably and the ruthlessness he showed in business would be turned on Victoria. He would delegate the responsibility of course, because that was his way. Perhaps she would be summoned to the office of his solicitor, but whatever course he chose Victoria knew that it would be final. Henry's decisions always were. No matter how deep the hurt, Henry would conclude the matter instantly and Victoria would be out on the streets... without so much as a penny of her own.

But Henry did know. Victoria's fears were justified.

For two weeks Victoria had flirted outrageously with the Captain of the 'Belle Grande' (apart from Victoria, Henry's only obsession). The fact that Captain Hugh Scullion was one of her husband's most loyal friends had not seemed to make any difference to Victoria, though he perplexed her and no man had done that since Adam Krane. Mostly they were predictable in their response, often fawning, but inevitably losing her respect. Captain Scullion did not respond like other men. His greater experience had taught him the errors of succumbing to the intimidation of feminine beauty. Victoria did not over-awe him.

During lunch she had finally evoked a response from the ice-cool Captain. 'Victoria,' he said softly, 'I'll see you in my cabin at six o'clock.' He had paused and with a smile finally added, 'and make sure you're suitably dressed!'

Victoria's tension, like the guilt, did not show. Her pulse rate had increased and her heart beat was quicker. The excitement of the illicit meeting was as satisfying as her present nudity. But the risks were immense.

As Victoria waited, a meeting was taking place in her cabin. Henry and Captain Scullion relaxed and drank arctic-cold Martinis. The subject would have surprised her. She was the earnest topic of their conversation and Henry was confiding to his loyal friend the problems of being married to Victoria. Captain Scullion, because of his own experience, had naturally suspected the nature of his friend's problems. In fact, before Henry had told him, the loyal Captain had already initiated steps to correct the distressing situation. At this very moment the errant wife was waiting in his cabin. Waiting on his pleasure – a pleasure which she had woefully misinterpreted.

'So you see Hugh,' Henry Pountain was saying, 'the damn girl needs your strong hand of discipline. I'm sure I can leave the method to you, after all you have succeeded admirably in the past and I simply wouldn't have the heart to do it your way. Besides, it's the only alternative to divorce and you know how I feel about that.'

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of more drinks, served by the object of another of Victoria's flirtations, a young Portuguese with flashing good looks who was called Raoul. She had received little encouragement from the handsome cabin boy and started to make life as difficult as possible, by asking him to 'fetch and carry' for her to a ridiculous extent.

Although the business at hand had been concluded, Henry insisted that the Captain finish his drink and let Victoria 'stew in her own juice', as he quaintly put it. Captain Scullion was happy to agree, it would have been part of his tactics anyway.

* * *

When the Captain entered his cabin, Victoria – who had been waiting for well over an hour – was pacing impatiently to and fro, inwardly seething. She was still nude.

For a long period of charged expectancy they looked at each other, Victoria suddenly aware of the massive aura of authority that the immaculately uniformed Captain exuded. Even the gold anchor on the impressive hat seemed to symbolise his immoveability. She felt his eyes boring into her like steel gimlets. The impatience and anger brought about by her waiting instantly evaporated under the probing eyes and Victoria felt more nude before him than she had ever felt in front of any of her lovers. But she gloried in it. He couldn't know of the narcissistic delight she experienced when completely nude. She wanted him to look at her. It was her tender trap.

Victoria found it difficult to meet those intense eyes. 'I... I've been waiting over an hour...' she said weakly.

He ignored her and strode purposefully across to confront her. Victoria momentarily caught her breath. Damn it why was it that men like him always made her feel so... so... inferior? Well, she would call the tune for once. He wouldn't dominate her – after all she wanted him. He was her choice.

'Do you like the "suitable dress"?' she asked coquettishly, her confidence returning.

He smiled. It was the first change of expression since he had entered the cabin.

'Birds of paradise my dear always look better in their summer plumage.' He stepped back and openly carried out an obvious mock inspection with his eyes. 'And yours is prettier than most!'

Briefly Victoria shivered, though not with cold. 'Oh dear,' she said 'ONLY better than most?' She had to play the one game that she was good at. It was the only way she could win, and winning was all.

Slowly he reached out with his right hand. Victoria watched with helpless fascination as it swept lightly and sensuously over the golden perfection of her left breast. She made no move to stop him. Immobile and available she let him do as he wished. His forefinger and thumb closed softly around the rich nugget of her erect nipple and pinched it very gently.

'Come with me, Victoria.'

She had no choice but to follow him. He pulled her by the nipple across the cabin to a chair beside the double bed. In one movement he sat and pushed her across his lap. Victoria found herself in an all too familiar position and the expectancy returned. She dug her strawberry-red fingernails into the thick pile carpet to maintain her balance. Slowly she began to writhe her naked bottom, searching for his strong masculine response. Little mewing noises squeezed from her throat, but he stilled them with a firm hand on the flawless perfection and began to stroke the flowing curves. Beneath the gentle touch, Victoria held her breath.

Suddenly and still without a word, or any indication of his emotions, he began to spank her. Victoria's breath expelled itself with a sweet hiss at the first impact. But he was gentle and she moaned beneath the stimulating hand, her bottom undulating slightly – rising and falling as if to meet it.

Scores of gentle little slaps rained down on Victoria's acutely offered buttocks and still he did not speak. Every emotion except for an intensely erotic response within her loins was drained from her body. Her head was spinning from the heady excitement of the intimate situation. Deliberately she exaggerated the writhing of her hips, trying to detect the normal male reaction she desperately craved. The slaps continued unabated, bouncing incessantly off the golden hillocks and heating the very core of her womanhood. She gasped aloud, but the reaction was not provoked by pain. Sensations on the surface of her trembling flesh were insinuating into her total being and spreading like an addictive drug. Breathing heavier now Victoria cried out.

'Harder... harder!' she gasped, 'please Hugh... please...'

The soft pattering sounds that had filled the quiet cabin were abruptly stilled. Momentarily there was a lull and then... the palm of his toughened hand impacted on the offered, upturned cheeks of bare flesh like a rifle shot. She almost slid off his lap, so sudden and forceful was the striking hand.

Victoria had barely had time to react when another, louder and even harder blow smacked her bottom with stinging force. Thousands of red-hot sparks seemed to scorch into her tender flesh and Victoria cried out. For a moment her buttocks glowed like burning embers and the heat was intense. Frantically Victoria twisted and turned to escape the searing agony, but the firebrand of his palm rekindled her burning flesh with even more intensity. For barely a second her senses and nerve ends were ignited. She cried out again – louder this time and almost plaintively.

For what seemed like hours she lay across his lap gasping and then, still without a word, he helped her to her feet.

'Stand by the bed and wait for me!' he commanded.

Now it was Victoria's turn to be silent. My god he was strong! Her whole lower body throbbed and ached like hell, and her buttocks blazed infernally. She had never been so helpless to a man's strength in her life. If only she could chip the granite of his self-control. Wasn't she having any effect on him? He didn't seem to even care that she was completely naked. Surely he couldn't be immune to her soft, willing body? Most men couldn't keep their hands off her. Yes, he was special and Victoria realised that she needed him... URGENTLY... and NOW.

She went after him and stopped him in the centre of the cabin. Her hands went to the lapels of his uniform. She had to start the thaw of this man's icy reserve. Firmly he took the hands away and very deliberately placed them by her sides.

'You will do as I have told you,' he said. 'Now go back and wait by the bed.'

The depth and purpose of his voice sent little fingers crawling up Victoria's spine. He excited her like no other man since Adam Krane. Immediately and blindly she obeyed him, returning to stand meekly by the bed. She would have to wait on his pleasure. She was his plaything and the understanding of that accelerated her pulse yet again. Perhaps this was the game that he always played. Perhaps if she went along with it the conclusion would be all the more satisfying.

Victoria's eyes widened. From the wardrobe opposite the bed he extracted a long slim punishment cane and walked slowly towards her. His eyes were unsmiling.

'Now the moment of reckoning, my dear,' he said. 'You came here to cheat on your husband, didn't you?'

Victoria did not reply. She looked from the blue flint chips that were his eyes and stared sightlessly at the floor. The truth stung her, but she had thought he was a willing partner to the subterfuge. She felt very childish and very guilty.

'When you cheat on someone Victoria, you succeed only in cheating yourself.'

He stood impassively before her, the crook-ended cane resting on his shoulder like some kind of military sword. Victoria felt nervous and on edge. She knew what her fate would be and the dawning came like the light – gradually and inevitably. She shivered, though not with cold, and the prospect of tasting that bittersweet bite filled her with excited trepidation.

He stepped forward one pace and Victoria was aware of his closeness. His sheer physical presence intimidated her and yet... she welcomed it.

'You realise, of course, that you must now pay the price of your waywardness. Any further transgression on your part, Mrs Pountain, and you can rest assured that it will be your last.' He reached out and with one finger lifted Victoria's chin so that she had no option but to look into the chilling depth of his glacial blue eyes. She could not hold them with her own and looked away.

'Unless I have your assurance that this whorish behaviour will stop, then I can guarantee with some certainty, that Henry will divorce you!' Once again he paused.

'Well?'

Victoria could not even begin to contemplate what life would be like if she were divorced. She had increasingly relied on Henry for everything. To once more become a secretary was unthinkable and Victoria inwardly shuddered. The answer to his question was simple... and no choice existed.

'You have... you have my... assurance...' The voice was hesitant and the spirit unwilling. Victoria did not fully understand herself, but she did know that assurances were one thing that she wasn't good at keeping. She bit her lip.

Captain Hugh Scullion considered her reply and then removed the cane from his shoulder.

'For the moment let us say that I believe you. We must now consider your punishment.'

Expectantly, Victoria looked up. For some reason the excitement had intensified and for a few seconds she wondered why. It was him, of course. To be punished by the Captain of the 'Belle Grande', Henry's most loyal friend, was exciting. It was almost as if she were about to be made love to. If only he would... She would let him. She would make it easy for him.

'I think that one dozen strokes will go some way towards atoning for your indiscretions, don't you Mrs Pountain?' For the first time his voice had lightened. If was as if the decision had cleared the sombre atmosphere and the punishment soon to be applied to Victoria's perfect bottom would provide the necessary boost of adrenaline that he needed; as much as Victoria needed the chastising result.

He took hold of her arm and turned her roughly towards the bed.

'Place a pillow on the edge of the bed and lie face down on your tummy. Your knees will be straight and your feet on the floor. Now go!'

Silently and meekly Victoria obeyed. When she was in position he placed her feet carefully together and stepped back.

The first lash of the cane against Victoria's arched bottom was stunning, its shock effect intensified by the sharp whistling hiss as it cleaved the air.

The breath was driven from between her clenched teeth and Victoria's fingers dug deeply into the cotton sheets. Her bottom quivered violently and fire raged through her loins. The sudden pain surged like an electric shock, charging her entire body. Tears welled into her eyes.

The second stroke was even harder and the third worse.

Now the pain seemed to have taken over her whole existence. There was nothing else. No Henry. No infidelity. No 'Belle Grande'. No lovers. Nothing. Nothing but flaming pain.

But there was Captain Hugh Scullion and there was the cane!

For the fourth time the teeth of agony severed her contact with all other reality. Her mind became a core of searing heat and her bottom an untouchable cinder. Victoria started to cry.

Coldly and clinically Hugh Scullion applied the fifth stroke. Immediately after the bamboo ripped the air a red stripe of retribution blazed across the centre of her golden buttocks, marring their perfection and matching the four others.

She was sobbing softly now, her fingers opening and closing on the sheets. Hugh Scullion paused to allow her a momentary respite and for the pain to take greater effect. He was amazed that so far she had not yelled out. She had simply accepted his punishment and then absorbed it. He could hear only her soft girlish whimpering.

For Victoria the waiting was terrible. She burned and ached. Please get on with it. Please.

Just as she started to look around the sixth stroke lashed into her relaxed bottom. For the first time she cried aloud. Caught unawares Victoria grabbed frantically at her raging bottom, her legs scissoring in agony.

'Be still, you little whore,' he said menacingly.

Victoria threw her head down and lay still. The excitement returned, triggered by one little word. A word that one of her lovers had always used. A word that she loved to hear and a word that was always used before they had sex. She loved to be a sexual whore. She would be his sexual whore. Why didn't he take her now? She was open and ready for him. She wouldn't resist. She needed him. How she needed him.

But Hugh Scullion did not need Victoria. Her body meant no more to him than the canvas means to a great artist. He was simply using her body to paint the cane strokes of a masterpiece.

He adjusted his stance and the cane bounced from the yielding bottom with blurring velocity. He felt the shock waves ripple along the muscles of his arm and saw the seventh scarlet stripe materialise in less than one second. Again she cried out, her brightly scored bottom writhing and arching. He watched with great satisfaction. She would never forget this thrashing.

'Lie still!' he commanded.

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

The eleventh stroke was as perfectly placed as the others. Each incandescent weal was less than one inch apart and perfectly parallel. Captain Scullion had produced a masterpiece, inspired by the vision of exquisite beauty that confronted him. A beauty that was about to receive its coup de grace.

For the second time in what had become a Mediterranean time-warp, Victoria sensed that he was making her wait. Through tear-streaked eyes and with mascara running down her flushed and delicate cheeks, she risked an apprehensive look behind her. For a moment she did not see him, only his image in the wardrobe mirror. Then it was gone as he moved towards her. For a few more seconds her eyes remained looking into the mirror, transfixed in horror and fascination on her own bottom.

Once again he caught her unawares and Victoria saw and felt the final stroke simultaneously.

The sound of the impact filled the cabin for a brief moment of piercing intensity. Victoria shrieked as the thin cane sliced diagonally across the eleven red fingers of pain that held her bottom in its agonising grip. The two interwoven sounds tore through the senses, numbing even Hugh Scullion. But the feeling was merely fleeting and the Captain stepped back to allow Henry's beautiful, young and chastised wife to reflect on her appalling misbehaviour. She had been suitably and efficiently admonished. He had succeeded as he always did. The girl would think twice in future when she met an attractive man. And to think that she had tried to make HIM a party to the deception of his best friend! No, he was certain that she now knew her place.

Victoria lay sobbing for fully ten minutes, the pain stabbing into her tenderised buttocks like a dozen innoculations. Perhaps they were. Perhaps they were innoculations against further adulterous affairs. Victoria could not say; she could not think of such things. All she could think of was the pain and the man who had inflicted it. Her thoughts added to the self-pity that she felt. She wanted this man. This man – no other. She truly needed him and the control that he had over her. She wouldn't rest until she made him part of her life. Henry's money didn't matter. Nothing mattered except Captain Hugh Scullion.

* * *

Wearing the silk bikini Victoria scurried painfully down the narrow passageway to the cabin she shared with Henry. She passed Raoul, the handsome young cabin boy without a word, remaining with her back to the wall in mortification lest should he see the red weals which the bikini failed to cover. She watched him knock on the Captain's door and eventually enter. With relief Victoria returned to her cabin, Captain Hugh Scullion obsessing her thoughts.

Raoul entered the Captain's cabin with a smile. He was aware of the reason behind Victoria's hasty retreat and it afforded him some amusement.

'Come in, my dear boy,' said Captain Scullion. He was wearing only shorts.

Raoul removed the immaculately starched jacket and threw it into the open wardrobe. He flopped onto the double bed and mopped his handsome brow.

'Christ Hugh, I'm exhausted!'

Captain Scullion studied him for a moment.

'Dear Raoul,' he said, 'you're very tense. Just relax. We have all night. There will be no interruptions, I promise.'