Olivia's Keeper by D.W. CollinsHe bares her bottom and soundly spanks her. That spanking rouses both of the young people in ways neither could have imagined and Laura's ghost has to step in.
Mr. Miller was an uncouth man who Olivia had no desire to marry.
It is 1855 and she is eager to throw off the yoke of female servitude. She wants to live her own life, to vote, and to find adventure.
Her father loves his daughter, but he has no patience with her foolish notions. Miller takes advantage of the situation to molest Olivia's scarlet flesh.
Olivia strikes him over the head with a bronze bust of Socrates and flees to tell her father about Miller's attack. Unfortunately, she is swept overboard by a huge wave.
During the seemingly endless night, the girl is confronted by two spectral images. Both whispered words of encouragement that fortified Olivia's will to survive.
Olivia was washed onto the beach and left near death. The ghost of Marcus's dead wife, Laura, guides him to Olivia. He carries her to his home and helps her recover from her ordeal. He resists his growing attraction and remains a perfect gentleman until she disobeys his command to stay off the dangerous cliffs.
He bares her bottom and soundly spanks her. That spanking rouses both of the young people in ways neither could have imagined and Laura's ghost has to step in.
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Olivia's Keeper (Sample Chapter)
Spanking with a ghostly twist
© D.W. Collins and Blushing Books, 2012-2013
Olivia MacDonald stretched her slim neck to get a better look at the windswept Seagull Island Lighthouse. It was the first bit of land she had seen in days. "Father, why is that ship moored by the Lighthouse?"
Captain Angus MacDonald swept his brass spyglass in the direction his daughter was pointing. "Aye, that's the Hollyhock. She supplies the lighthouses and their keepers. Argyle Simpson is her skipper."
Olivia never ceased to be amazed at her father's encyclopedic knowledge of every ship operating on the Great Lakes and their skippers. She wished he would apply some of his powerful intellect to gentler pursuits. "I'm surprised to see so many people. It looks like more than a resupply trip."
"You have sharp eyes. The keeper must be hosting a ball."
Olivia laughed. Her father's bit of humor was appreciated. She was ready for a little mirth. This voyage had not been a happy one. The Celia Jane had been laboring its way north from Chicago for what seemed like an eternity. Of Course, Olivia was in no hurry. For her, this trek was a death march. These days would be her last as a free woman. When Celia Jane made port on Drummond Island, Olivia's father was going to hand her over into bondage. She would be forced to marry the accursed William Miller.
Miller had wangled his way into her life by purchasing a half interest in her father's shipping business. Olivia found him exceedingly common. He had coarse looks and uncultivated tastes. He did not seem to have much passion in anything other than making money and satisfying his base cravings. As far as she could tell, he had no interest in literature or the arts. Card playing and horse racing were as close as he came to any form of culture. His bulging waistline bore testimony to his unchecked gluttony and his breath was seldom free of the smell of rum.
Olivia would have never chosen such a vulgar man, but her father had pronounced that she was in danger of becoming an old maid. Once Angus MacDonald got an idea into his head there was no diverting him. His beloved wife, Patricia, was the only human who could alter his course. Mother seldom challenged him directly. Instead, she would give him one of her wonderfully intoxicating smiles and press her lush body against his. Her familiar words still seemed to echo in Olivia's ears. "Oh, dear husband, I am sure you know best, but have you possibly considered…." Now that Olivia was a woman in her own right, she had to smile at her mother's skill. Patricia knew how to sway her man and she was not afraid to make use of his lust to aid her in those pursuits. Now that she was cold in the grave, Angus had only his own uncertain counsel to rely upon.
Olivia had tried her best. She was Angus's only child. She had begged, cried and pouted, but she could not sway him. "You've turned down four proposals of marriage," Angus had said those words on countless occasions. "Some of the best young lads have sought you and you've turned them all down flat. I'm tired of waiting for my grandchildren. I've made the decision for you. You'll marry Miller and that's the end of it." Her father was the only human Olivia knew with a will stronger than her own.
She never doubted her father's love for her. Since her mother's death, he had pampered and fawned over her. She was the apple of his eye. He had bought her many books even though he had no idea why a woman would want to read. He had even hired tutors in spite of the fact that spending money on a woman's education was a waste. He loved to listen when she sang and played the piano forte that he had purchased and shipped from New York.
In Olivia's mind, marriage was all right for women who had few interests outside their homes. Child rearing and the domestic arts could be noble enough for the women who were called to those pursuits. Olivia was just not called to such wifely endeavors. That was not to say that visions of the marriage bed did not beguile her a bit. In the months since her twentieth birthday had passed, she had caught herself admiring a well-formed male body on too many occasions.
Her cheeks warmed when she recalled staring mesmerized at a sailor named Ned. It had been a hot day and he had stripped to the waist. His powerful muscles had swelled when he'd pulled a heavy rope to raise the main sail. A galaxy of tiny beads of sweat glistened on his broad back. His flat stomach had none of the blubbery fat that encircled Mr. Miller's indolent torso. Her eyes had also rested longest on his tight breaches. His powerful buttocks and thighs made her almost breathless in a way that she could not fully express. She had gawked too long and he had turned and spied her. His arrogant grin had made her want to scream.
The Celia Jane struck a large wave and heavy spray nearly drenched the three people standing on the ship's bridge. "Don't hold her quite so tight," Angus MacDonald had said to the helmsman. "A ship is like a woman. She needs a firm hand, but a skillful one." The captain stole a mischievous glance at his daughter. He knew that she hated it when he compared ships, or horses, or dogs to women.
Olivia chose to not dignify his foolish remark with a comment. She was about to make a remark about the beauty of the day when she felt an unwelcome hand touch her slim waist. William Miller had intruded into her space again. She tried to step away, but his grip hardened and his stubby fingers clutched her.
"That's a lovely dress you're wearing, Miss Olivia," Miller said. "Your father has indulged your whims most generously."
Olivia groaned inwardly. She actually hated wearing this or any dress when she was onboard ship. The garment was fine in a parlor, but she had to wage unending battle to keep its hem in place in this potent breeze. "If you would like to keep it down in this wind, I'd be glad to let you try it on." Her tone was friendly, but her eyes shot daggers into her fiancé's ignorant face.
"I like your sense of sport," Miller said as he took the brazen liberty to quickly palm her bottom. "I'll wear the trousers in our family, if you please and you may wear the skirts. It is the way God has decreed, my pretty future wife."
Olivia squirmed to escape Miller's touch, but his hand actually dared to clutch one of her firm rear cheeks.
Angus saved his daughter without realizing the distress she was in. "Miller, come here and take a look at this new compass. It is the very latest design. I hope you will agree with me that all our ships should have one." Miller gave Olivia's captive rump a final lustful squeeze and stepped away.
Olivia seized her opportunity and fled the bridge. She hurried forward across the gently pitching deck to her cozy cabin. It was located in the forecastle and was far from her father and the lecherous Mr. Miller. She latched the door behind her and dug into her trunk. Buried at the bottom she found a pair of breaches. They were made out of soft leather. She stripped off the dress that Mr. Miller found so fetching and pulled on the pants. She also slipped on a brightly colored flannel shirt and a pair of sea boots made of the same color leather as the pants.
The whole costume was absolutely inappropriate for a young lady of her station to be wearing and that made it feel wonderful to Olivia. She reveled in the sensation of the soft animal hide touching her bare thighs and the kiss of the warm flannel on her bare breasts. My god, she felt so free. She had not dressed this way just to enjoy herself in her cabin. Poppa was distracted and she was going to break one of his cardinal rules. She was going to climb into the rigging and enjoy the view of Seagull Island.
Ned caught a glimpse of her the moment she was back on deck. He shook his head playfully as she rushed to the main mast. No one was close enough to stop her as she began to mount the rigging. She remembered the advice she had heard so often, "Don't look down." The view was breathtaking. The little island was only a couple of miles away on the ship's starboard beam. The tall lighthouse tower stood its sentinel on a tiny sand pit. The adjacent island was a little over a mile in length and a quarter of that in width. Half of the little speck of land was wooded and the other half was a sunny meadow. A flock of sheep grazed peacefully. A small group of people were gathered at the isle's south end. Olivia could clearly see that they were conducting a funeral service. A single grave stood open as the tiny congregation conducted their sacred rites.
Olivia's enjoyment of the awesome view was cut short when she felt a hard hand on her upper arm. "Step carefully; I'm going to take you down." Angus MacDonald had seen his daughter's foolish antic from the bridge and rushed to rescue her from her folly. She made the climb down without difficulty. Her father wasted no words. He pinched his errant child's ear and marched her to his cabin.
The scene on Seagull Island was far more somber. Marcus Kane could hardly force himself to look as his beloved Laura's simple coffin was lowered into the grave. The old priest from the nearby village of Saint James muttered the words of committal as the pall bearers took shovels and began to drop the heavy clods of dirt into the dark hole. The hollow wooden box made an empty sound as each chunk struck. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief when the dirt began to pile up. The empty sound was gone, replaced by the soft sound of dirt on dirt. It reminded him of the sound of the waves breaking on the beach.
Her face appeared spectral in the mist of his damp eyes. Laura had always loved the beach. They had enjoyed their seven months together on this tiny piece of land. This was the first time that anyone but the lighthouse inspector or a member of his crew had stepped foot here. Laura would have been so excited to have so much company. She would have labored through the night baking treats for her guests. The smells of cinnamon and nutmeg did not linger in the cottage's tiny kitchen this day. The mistress of the house was not able to bake or smile. The heartless wind had swept her off the cliff and onto the jagged rocks that lay below. It was a mercy that her horribly disfigured face was hidden in the eternal darkness of her grave.
"The service will provide a marker," Inspector Argyle Simpson whispered softly.
Marcus assumed that his superior felt ashamed at how barren the burial place appeared. One of the women had gathered a few wild flowers, but the strong south west wind had scattered them. Lake Michigan has a cruel streak. She resists the petty changes humans try to make and quickly puts things back the way they were.
"Thank you for the offer, sir," Marcus's voice was soft and husky. "Laura loved this place. She would not want it turned into some grim cemetery. She would want…." The older man's hand touched the young keeper's shoulder as tears choked him.
"I can have a relief man come for a few days if you want," the inspector went on. Marcus understood. The light had to be kept lit. A young woman's death may be tragic, but the beacon still needed to mark the way so others would not die..
"No thank you, sir. The work will comfort me. I do not want to leave for even a day. I feel her spirit here."
Inspector Simpson was not surprised. He had seen many of his men face death. The keeper's work was dangerous. He would honor young Marcus's preference, but he would also keep a close watch. Seagull Island was an important station and it had to be kept lit. Keepers had been known to go mad from loneliness and grief. He would need to keep an eye on the lad.
Marcus felt a wonderful sense of relief when the Hollyhock weighed anchor. She would deliver her passengers and spend the night in Saint James. Now he would be able talk to her. "It's all right, my love. They're all gone. We can talk now." He listened for her voice in the freshening wind, but she chose to be silent. She had to be tired from her exhausting day.
He counted the seventy-five stone steps as he climbed to the lantern room and lit the light. Thousands of miles away some whale had given its life to fuel this beacon. Laura's death was like that. She had illuminated many hearts with her warm glow. He sat cross legged on the hard floor. The pain in his heart was too great to allow sleep. The soft ticking of the clockworks was soothing. Its relentless presence reminded him that time goes on.
Olivia was glad to finally reach her father's cabin. He released her aching ear and gave her a few seconds to massage the pain away. "Climbing into the rigging like that was a damn fool thing," the old captain growled. "I've told you and I've told you. Were you trying to kill yourself?"
"I just wanted a better view," she said defiantly. "Stop treating me like a child."
"You act like a willful brat and I am going to make you consider your actions more carefully." His powerful hands gripped her narrow shoulders and turned her away from him.
Olivia gasped. She had a good idea what to expect. Since her mother's passing, her father had taken over disciplining her. His hand grabbed the back of her breaches and jerked them to her ankles. He roughly bent her over the table and clutched her wrists behind her waist before he spoke again.
"I'd hoped you'd begin to act like a lady with so few days left before your marriage. I'd dearly wished you'd learned, but I see that I've not whaled the rebellion out of you yet."
Olivia yelped when her father's calloused hand struck the thin cotton drawers that covered her round bottom. Her skin began to sting immediately. The next harsh spank kindled a fire in the other half of her buttocks.
"You're too big a girl to need such discipline, but here we are again with your damned ass raised high for chastisement." He delivered six hard spanks that made Olivia's eyes fill with tears.
She cringed. Her father seldom swore. His calling her womanly hind quarters her "damned ass" meant that he was completely enraged. Another half dozen spanks fell before he paused. She knew better than to harbor any hope that her punishment was over.
Angus's fingers took hold of the pink bow that held his willful daughter's drawers in place. A single tug loosed the knot and sent the cloth slithering down her bare legs. Olivia's face flushed. She was bare from waist to ankle. Her real punishment was about to begin. Angus pulled his wide belt from its loops and wrapped it around his hand a couple of times. "Nothing gets a female's undivided attention more than the feel of leather on her bare ass," the old mariner growled. It had worked on his sweet Patricia and it would work on Olivia as well.
He raised his arm and brought the strap across the girl's bared behind. She gave a banshee wail. A livid stripe bloomed a few seconds later. He struck four times before she began to bawl.
Olivia would have loved to stamp and prance to relieve the infernal pain, but the leather pants bunched around her ankles kept her legs effectively bound. The heartless lash fell and fell again. She was certain that her skin would be peeled off. In fact, her butt was bright red when her agony increased tenfold.
She heard the cabin door open with a squeak and two heavy boots stepped in. "Pardon the intrusion. I came to find my future wife," William Miller said with mirth in his voice. She had no doubt that he was thrilled to get his first look at her bare femininity. "Please, Daddy. Stop. Don't shame me in front of this man."
Miller could not take his eyes off Olivia's bared posterior. He had never glanced so much as an inch of bare ankle before this day. Now, her caves, thighs and those wonderfully molded buttocks were completely exposed for his eager inspection. Best of all, those aforementioned buttocks were bright red. The only thing that could have excited him more would have been if he could be wielding the strap himself. He was fascinated by the gyrations her body went through with each lash.
Angus struck her bottom again. "Nonsense! This ‘man' as you call him is no stranger. He will be your husband in a few days. He may as well see the only kind of discipline you will respect." He brought the belt down three more times.
"What are your feelings on the subject of wifely discipline, Miller?"
"Captain, my father smacked my mother's bare ass regularly and I believe she was the better for it. I plan to follow my family's tradition and spank her right and proper on our wedding night. It will take her mind off any pain that losing her maidenhood might cause." Miller's hand slipped into a pocket. He casually adjusted his trousers to make room for his rapidly swelling organ. "Have you had to thrash her regular like?"
"Before my Patricia died, spanking was her responsibility. She favored her hair brush to brighten this girl's rump." Angus delivered four more spanks. Of course I often watched to make sure the girl got all the correction she needed."
"Of course, that's a father's responsibility." Miller's pants were growing uncomfortably tight.
"My Patricia never excused bad behavior." Angus's face took on a sly grin. "I would never deny that she was a good wife. Still, I did have to take her down a peg or two when she forgot her proper place."
"Did you favor using the leather on her too?" Miller throat was growing dry.
"No. I am convinced that a switch works best. A hickory rod can reach more places than a belt. I'd make her strip and kiss the rod before I'd remind her how many parts her body had that could be used for a naughty female's correction."
Miller was too breathless to speak.
Olivia was stunned at the coarse way the two men charged with her protection were talking. They were so arrogant that she wanted to tell them what brutes they were.
"Why aren't you using the switch on your daughter now?" Miller asked.
"My fool cook found my few switches and used them for kindling. The belt was the best tool I had at hand."
Miller shook his head in commiseration. "A wise man knows how to improvise." He casually slipped of his jacket and draped it across a forearm. "Excuse me for getting a bit more comfortable. It's very close in this compartment."
"You don't need to hold your coat. Put it over a chair back if you like so your hands can be free."
The dangling cloth shielded Miller's guilty bulge from view so he declined Angus's offer. His eyes settled on the girl's upper thighs. The plump lips of her pink cunt were peeking at him. His mind raced as he considered all the ways he'd initiate her as soon as she was under his control. His mouth was completely dry.
A sharp knock on the cabin door interrupted Olivia's chastisement. The first mate's voice burst into the room. "Captain, you're needed on deck."
"Go back to the bridge," Angus shouted in reply. "I'll be there in a moment."
Olivia listened as the sound of the first mate's boots grew softer as he withdrew. She prayed that her suffering would come to an end.
Angus's next words dashed those hopes. "Miller, make sure this girl stays in place. I'll be back as soon as possible. You need to stand guard so that no crewman violates her. You know how a woman's presence can incite even the best sailors. You also need to make sure she does not try to soothe her pain away." The captain went to do his duty and left Olivia and her leering fiancé alone.
Miller stood stark still until he was sure that Angus was gone. His hand palmed Olivia's scarlet buttocks. "This is a pleasure I had not expected today, but you can plan on much harsher treatment if you dare disobey me after we are wed."
Olivia winced and squirmed as the hateful Miller casually caressed her flaming bottom. She nearly fainted when his hand crept down her rear cleft and his roaming fingers touched her sex.
"Sir, you have no right to molest me in such a familiar way," Olivia shouted.
"Keep your voice down, wench. Your father left me in charge of you and I'm not afraid to enforce my will." His fingers spread her nether lips. He was disappointed to find her sex amazingly dry. His fingers moved to her backside. The burning cheeks parted easily and he stroked a finger along the length of her cleft. His finger tried to penetrate her crinkled rear opening but she was too dry. "You'll not deny me for long. Next time, I'll bring a crock of lard." His hand delivered a sharp spank.
Olivia choked back her tears. How much longer would this brutish violation go on?
Miller seized a handful of Olivia's auburn tresses and jerked her upright. His hands dove under her shirt tail and clutched her youthful breasts. The twin globes were soft in his rough palms. "Whimper all you like my frigid little wife to be. You need to accept that your body's mine and I'll make you surrender every inch of it for my pleasure."
"You can ravish me, but I'll never give you my heart," Olivia proclaimed boldly.
"A woman's heart is full of foolishness. You may keep it for yourself. It's your body I desire and I plan to stuff every one of its openings soon enough." His fingers clamped onto her tender nipples and pinched them harshly. Neither nub responded to his brutish mauling.
Olivia wanted to shout for joy when she heard her father's boots approaching. Miller took his hands off her unwilling body and bent her back in place. Angus strode into the room a moment later.
"I'm sorry to make you wait, Miller. The mate wanted me to look at the glass. It seems we have a storm brewing. I'm going to take my daughter to her cabin. I'll join you in the officer's mess for supper."