The Outing

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2020 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

The Outing

(*****, M/F, Severe, cons severe whipping, sex)

A sailboat trip promises lots of discipline and sex for a couple. (Approximately 2,076 words. Originally published 2004-01.)

When Patricia emerged on the deck clad in her snow white shorts, bikini top, and open blouse, I was tempted to throw out the anchor and take her right there. But we were still in the harbor.

The next few hours were pure torture for me. Patricia amused herself by teasing me, making a big production of gradually removing her clothing, layer by layer. The blouse was the first to go, once we were on the lake, and a half hour after that she bent over and touched her toes a few times, making sure I was looking at her bottom, and then inched down the shorts to reveal an incredibly sexy pink bikini bottom.

I busied myself with the sailboat, but as we were underway, there really wasn't much to do except man the helm. I was forced to watch my lovely wife parade around in her skimpy, sexy clothes, behaving like a filthy slut. Soon her top was gone and she was rubbing lotion all over her body.

At about one o'clock we anchored for lunch. Patricia brought up the picnic basket from below and set out a marvelous array of cold cuts, sandwiches, fresh fruit, and sweet wine.

"Fetch the bottle opener, dear," she said sweetly, and I, like a fool, fell for it. When I emerged from the forecastle, she was gone, and all that was left was a pink bikini puddle on the deck. A tinkle of laughter drew my attention starboard, and there she was, naked as a fish, proudly doing the backstroke so I could see her magnificent breasts part the water.

The sight set my sail aloft, so to speak.

"You little scamp!" I cried. "You're gonna pay for this!"

"I sure hope so," she giggled, and then did a neat dive, the pale cheeks of her bottom breaking the surface briefly as she headed down.

Time passed. I counted the seconds. When I reached sixty I became alert, and at ninety I was concerned. Where was Patricia? Had something gone wrong? This was not a good game!

At the two minute mark I was kicking off my shoes and preparing to dive when I heard a splash from the other side of the boat. It was Patricia, of course. She'd swam underneath the boat and had been watching me the whole time!

"Oh, you're _really_ gonna pay for that," I said as I hauled her onboard. She just hugged her wet naked body against mine, kissed me on the lips, and gave my member a rough squeeze.

Giggling, she waltzed passed me, wagging her naked fanny. When I found her at the little table, she'd thrown on a white terrycloth robe. Her black hair and black eyes just sparkled with fire and life and I ached to rip off that robe and really give her something to smile about. But good things come to those who wait. Literally.

I took a quick dip, the shock of the cool water helping a little.

After a wonderful meal, we set off for our destination, a secluded inlet off an uninhabited island. I could hardly wait. I kept looking at Patricia tellingly, and she kept smiling and flaunting her sexy body in various perverse and evil ways.

Her favorite ploy was the "Oh, dear, I forgot something below" trick. She'd shed the robe after lunch, preferring to sunbathe nude, but periodically she'd pretend to fetch something from below. This not only meant she had to walk the full length of the boat naked, but she often took the most circuitous route she could, including passing right by me, brushing me with a full breast or rounded rear end and apologizing profusely. But the worst was that once she reached the forecastle, she would bend over at the waist and peer below, giving me the most obscene look at her ass and between her legs, and then she'd rise and slap her forehead and say, "Oh silly me, my book's over by my towel!" Then she'd take the long way back, brushing by me again, before settling down for another quarter hour or so of sunbathing.

Oh, the torment was exquisite, I must admit. She's an expert flirt. I swear she kept me hard almost that entire day, and the only thing that kept me from taking her was the knowledge that evening was coming, and she would be mine, all mine.

We arrived at the inlet at about four, set anchor, and went skinny dipping for an hour. I refrained from touching Patricia, for even the cool water wouldn't have helped me then.

I grilled salmon for an early supper, which we ate while we watched the sky turn rose.

"I love the way the sky turns pink at sunset," I said pointedly, looking straight at my wife. "Soon it will be bright red, then _crimson_."

Patricia pretended not to notice. "We must sit out here and watch the sunset."

"Dream on, naughty slut. You and I have a date below."

She shivered, but it was a shiver of anticipation, not fear. Of course she had to make the token effort, of course, but we both knew we were equally looking forward to the evening.

With the boat settled for the night, I went down the stairs to the quarters. Patricia was waiting. She wore those yummy white shorts she'd had on earlier, and pretended I'd just caught her without her top on. She covered her breasts with one arm and tried to shoo me away.

"Go away you dirty-minded beast!"

"You're the one who's been naughty," I said sternly, sitting on the bunk and patting my lap.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Patricia crept toward me, protesting all the while. But soon she was there and I grabbed her shorts and pulled her across my lap. I dusted her seat with a couple slaps, then yanked those white shorts down. Her beautiful bare ass gleamed at me in the modest cabin light.

I may be biased, but Patricia has the most gorgeous bottom in the whole world. She keeps fit, and her buns are magnificent. Full and round, firm yet soft, with skin silky to the touch, and oh-so-wonderfully impudent.

Right now, after a full two weeks without a spanking, her flesh was pale and absolutely begging to be smacked. I quickly gave in, delivering a thorough bottom-warming that had Patricia moaning within five minutes.

"Fetch me your hairbrush," I finally ordered, giving her bum an encouraging slap as she rolled off my lap. She yelped and ran to obey, as desperate as I was to continue our play.

Back across my lap she lay, and with the stout hairbrush in my hand, I proceeded to really heat up her tush. The smack of the brush was loud, as were Patricia's cries, but neither bothered us since we were miles from any other person.

When I recognized Patricia's cries were near the peak, I gave her a few more and then stopped, slipping down my shorts and fucking her something fierce. We did it twice in a half hour, and then broke off for a breather.

After our break, I rubbed Patricia's bottom for a while, then had her bring me my belt. This was basically just a leather strap, but since it had once been a belt, I called it my belt, and we both knew it was used for serious play.

Patricia was eager for more, and moaned gratefully with every stroke of the leather. The blows left crimson blotches and the occasional welt, but Patricia loved those "love scars," as she called them. They always faded away, but for the next few days they'd provide Patricia with plenty of memories of this night.

After another bout of love-making, followed by a good old-fashioned paddling, we took a little midnight swim to cool off. We were both naked, of course, and the moonlight made everything look exotic and even more beautiful, and I couldn't resist taking Patricia once on the deck after we'd climbed back aboard.

After another dip to wash off the sweat, it was time for the climax of our evening. Patricia stood naked on the deck and bent and touched her toes when I ordered it. I then gave her "six of the best" with a rattan cane. She expelled her breath violently after every stroke, and each left a crimson weal across her buttocks.

But that was just the appetizer, designed to stimulate the palate. The main course was the whipping. This was to be an authentic ship's flogging, with Patricia tied to mainsail. The whip was a long leather blacksnack, extremely dangerous if used incorrectly. It was a good thing Patricia trusted me implicitly.

I bound the nude Patricia to the mast with her ankles on either side and her arms stretched high above her head. The mast was thin enough I could easily flog her front as well as her back, and if you think I would neglect lashing those lovely breasts, well, you don't know me very well.

I began with light flicks, snapping the end of the lash across the hillock of a buttcheek or wrapping it around an inner thigh. Patricia shrieked. It was an eerie sound, echoing out across the black water, and I actually wondered how far it would carry. But Patricia needs to scream -- it's the screaming more than the pain that provides the release she needs. That's why we bought the boat: for some odd reason, screams are inappropriate for an apartment.

I gradually built up the pain. Flicks sting awfully, but the feeling quickly fades, so after a dozen or so, I began to lay on legitimate stripes. These hurt and will continue to hurt for days. Patricia had insisted I lay a few across her back, so I oblige, though I don't like doing that since there isn't much protection there. The buttocks and thighs and even breasts can take an amazing amount of punishment without permanent injury, but the back is sensitive and easy to scar.

After three across her back and five across her buttocks, I lay on two across the backs of her thighs for a total of ten. Then I check Patricia, feeling her all over, making sure I haven't broken the skin (or at least not too badly), and I tickle her pussy for her. After the rest I deliver more flicks, this time from the front, striking the outsides of her breasts, which sends her screaming to new decibel levels. I land a few across her hips, and one light one over her belly.

Then I'm behind her. More flicks, just tickling the existing weals, and then the killer strike right into the crack of her ass. She wasn't expecting that and her screams are hideous. I give her three strokes, deftly cutting upward. The first is just into the crack. The impact of the second is lower, across her anus. The final blow is lower still, catching the plump pouting lips of her sex.

She's still screaming from that as I fuck her on the post, taking her from behind. Gradually her screams of pain become screams of joy. Though it was a long fuck, I came only once, but from the sounds Patricia made, she had at least four orgasms. Her third and mine coincided, but I held on to help her to her fourth.

Afterward, I stretched Patricia out on the deck and poured buckets of water over her and laved her body with several coatings of oil. Then we made love again and eventually fell asleep. In the early morning we woke up and I carried her downstairs to the bunk where we made love yet again, with Patricia begging me to take her sailing again next week.

"Next month, love," I whispered in her ear. "You need a rest."

I was already rising again at the thought of doing this again, and I had to remind myself (and Patricia) that less often was always better than too often.

Patricia shook her head playfully. "If I disagree with you will you spank me for being obstinate?"

"You're a glutton!" I laughed, giving her bum a gentle pat. That brought tears to her eyes and a wince to her face.

"Maybe we should wait a week or two," she sighed. "But God it's awful torture waiting. I _love_ sailing."

The End