Gypsy, tramps and thieves


bratThe boat was called the Gypsy and Toni fell in love with it at once. Not that it was much of a boat; a red half-cabin affair at just 15 feet long. It was the kind she might have hired out in the days before she had become a beach bum and had to hustle her tail to get through the summer season.

At 28 Toni was a little old for the surfer scene, not that she could surf. But the boys who did were so cool and so long as she intimated that she would put out, they tended to pay the tab. Or they had used to. But these days the unruly blonde mane, cut-off denims and check cotton shirt tied in her knot above her midriff didn’t always attract the younger men.

Toni sucked in her full pout and fixed both sea-blue eyes on the boat. What the hell, she thought, no one will even miss it.

Her plan might have worked if the stupid thing hadn’t been empty, a happenstance that she did not appreciate until she was drifting in the middle of the small Cornish harbour.

“Hey you,” someone shouted.

The man looked angry, not to mention big. A salt and pepper guy pushing 40 at least, Toni decided. He now stood on the high harbour wall with his arms folded and glaring at her.

“That’s my boat,” he yelled.

Toni giggled nervously and chewed her lip.

“Did you know it had no diesel in it?” she said brightly with cheeky smile, “Good job I wasn’t way out to sea when I found that out.”

The man dropped his hands to his sides, a move that reminded Toni of a panther. Then in a blink he had seized a rope tether from the floor and tossed it expertly so that it tumbled onto the Gypsy’s deck.

Five minutes later he had hauled both her and the boat back to shore.

“I suppose you have an explanation,” the man grunted once the boat was secured.

“Not really,” Toni shrugged.

For a moment her posture was surly but then she smiled and gave him a wink.

“Come on, you can’t be that mad,” Toni giggled.

But the look on his face suggested otherwise.

“I suppose you have the money to rent it?” he growled, not sounding convinced.

“Not a bean,” she grinned, joshingly punching him on the arm.

“Then I have to call the cops,” he sighed, not really intending to.

“Oh, no way man, I mean I am sure we can work something out.” Toni slipped alongside him closely so that she could feel the heat from his body. He was all firm flesh over steel and twice the size of skinny surfer boys she knew.

“Oh yes, like what?” he asked, as if he didn’t know and looked at her in a manner that suggested he was decidedly unimpressed. Although, he thought, the kid looked pretty enough. “Perhaps you were suggesting doing some work for me,” he added.

“Ooh, work is for uglies,” she pouted, “Can’t you think of another way I can pay for the trouble I caused?” As she spoke she allowed her finger to go walking on his chest. “What is your name anyway?” she asked him.

“James Trophy,” he told her and then asked, “So you want to pay for the trouble, do you my little thief?”

She giggled and then in a husky voice she said seductively, “You make me sound such a naughty little girl.”

“Come with me,” James said sharply and took her by the arm.

“Ooh,” she squealed a she found herself tottering along the harbour wall to a small stone building at the far end. “Where are we going?”

He couldn’t help chuckling inwardly at her animated face and her sudden consternation. “I thought you said you would pay for all the trouble,” he said.

“But I’m broke,” she wailed.

“Don’t worry, it won’t cost you a penny,” he reassured her. Then he stopped for a moment and regarded her carefully, “I mean unless you want this handled by the law?”

Toni gasped and clasped at her breast. “N-no way, please,” she squeaked, the smile now wiped from her face.

Satisfied, James strode on half leading and half pulling the stumbling Toni behind him.

The room in the small building looked half office and half fisherman’s shed; not the kind of place Toni was eager to negotiate for her favours. But then she saw the look in James’s eyes and gulped. She had been around long enough to guess where this might be going.

“You utter brat,” he scolded her; “Don’t you think you are a bit old for pranks and hanging out with beach bums? Oh yes I’ve seen you around,” he added before she could protest.

“Maybe,” she said defensively and nervously kicked at one heel as she blushed.

“Someone ought to put you across their knee and spank the living daylights out of you,” he growled.

“Oh, oh, you wouldn’t would you?” she protested, “I mean… oh cripes.”

James sat down on an old Victorian dining room chair and hauled her easily and barely resisting across his lap. “And that someone is going to be me,” he told her sternly.

“Oh come on, can’t we talk about this?” she wheedled. Then she felt his hand on her hip and tugging at her cut-offs which quickly found their way to her knees and with a groan Toni suddenly wished she had worn some underwear as she added ruefully, “I guess not.”

His hand was as hard as a teak plank and blasted down on her bare bottom with force and speed of a champion oarsman.

“Omigod,” she shrieked.

James ignored her and followed with a rapid volley that left her bucking and very decidedly red-bottomed.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… ‘kay,” she said miserably.

“No, no it’s not okay,” he barked, “You have one hell of a lot more coming before we are done.”

“Figures,” she wailed, now giving full rein to her pout before she let go with a sustained: “Waaaaaa!”

Over the next 10 minutes or so the pounding of his iron palm extracted various yelps and entreaties from her. But mostly all she could manage was “ow,” “yay,” “yikes” and at one point a long drawn out “jeezussfookingkryst.”

By then her formerly white round bottom was rounder and red through purple to maroon and tears trickled form her eyes.

“Now young lady you can go and stand in that corner while I let my palm cool and consider if we are done or not,” he ordered.

“Yes Sir,” she sniffed miserably, wondering idly whether anyone outside had heard or if someone might come in.

After about 10 minutes she craned around her neck and offered him a pout.

“Come on Mr Trophy, I’m sorry, really I am,” she said morosely. She didn’t add ‘let me prove it’ and suggest offering one of her many favours. Somehow she knew that would get her another spanking. After all he was the kind of man who knew how to put her in her place, perhaps the kind of man she needed.

“Keep your nose to the wall,” he snapped and saw that she obeyed.

Her pert behind was a good colour and a little swollen, a fact not missed by an old friend of his who roused himself in appreciation.

“You really going to spank me again?” she asked meekly.

“You want a job helping out around here?” he countered.

“Could I…? I mean…” she didn’t usually like work, but somehow the idea of hanging around the big fella seemed attractive, but to play it as cool as someone with her bare bottom still displayed ever could she said, “sure.”

“Then I am going to spank you again,” he told her, “After all you need to know who’s boss.”

“I guess,” she sighed. Of course he would spank her again, he was that type, but she had been counting on it not happening quite so soon. But then again she had already decided that the days of getting her way were at an end.

8 Responses to “Gypsy, tramps and thieves”

  1. 1 George

    Nice photo.
    Imho the way it should be with brats… of course just for a start!

  2. 2 paul1510

    You wouldn’t happen to know the name of that small Cornish harbour?
    I’ve been looking for someone like Toni for quite a while. 😀

  3. 3 Leigh Smith

    Great story – very descriptive

  4. 4 Kia

    You wouldn’t happen to know the name of that small Cornish harbour?
    I’ve been looking for someone like James for quite a while. (and one couldn’t just leave him all by himself if Paul will be looking after Toni 😉 )

  5. 5 DJ

    There are many such harbours in Cornwall – one of them must have something like this don’t you think? Thanks guys 🙂

    • 6 Jon

      I can see it and almost read it now. One of those books with either cover as the starting point and printing in reverse on each side of a page: “A Dom’s Guide to Harbors (harbours?) and Small Craft of _____ Europe … North America” etc. And on the flip side: ” Sub’s Guide to Harbors and Small Craft of Europe.” Think it could give Michelin a run?

      PS If anyone copyrights the idea I’m claiming the Southern California and the Coast of Maine guides for myself.

  1. 1

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