The Siren, The General's Daughter Book One by Breanna HayseLt. Samantha Quimby, USMC is a beautiful, brilliant and very unique young woman. Love, laughter, duty and obedience frames Sam's life and, despite a constant sore backside, she couldn't be happier.
The 18 year old is appalled, but it does not take long for her to discover that love can be expressed in a firm and consistent manner upon her little bottom.
Love, laughter, duty and obedience frames Sam's life and, despite a constant sore backside, she couldn't be happier.
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The Siren, The General's Daughter Book One (Sample Chapter)
Love, laughter, duty and obedience frames Sam's life and, despite a constant sore backside, she couldn't be happier.
© Breanna Hayse and Blushing Books 2013
"So, where did she go?" asked a very tired (and equally annoyed) unit commander as he leaned back in his large chair, fingers pressed together studying the young, handsome blond man standing before him.
"I wish I knew, Sir." Lt. Michael Quimby sighed, meeting the gaze of the dark brown eyes.
Lt. General Joseph Quimby, M.D. pointed to a chair. "Sit, boy, you're giving me a crick in the neck. You're telling me you have no idea where your little sister disappeared to?"
"That is exactly what I'm saying. Her crew told me that- and I quote- 'she went for a swim'. That was three hours ago. She's not responding to her transmitter either," Michael responded, now looking as tired as his father.
Dr. Quimby shook his head again. "I don't know why I even bother giving her orders—she does whatever the hell she wants to. I knew it was a mistake to allow her a field commission at her age. She is too immature. You, at least, were responsible when you got yours."
Michael blushed, glancing at the floor. He and Samantha served as special ops officers and scientists onboard the U.S. Allegro—a research vessel that engaged in the development of military intelligence. Dr. Quimby, Military Intelligence and diving medical officer, was also sub-commander to his brother-in-law, Major General and oceanic physicist, Scott Jenkins. The siblings were exceptional, both graduating college with honors by the age of 15 and initiating post-graduate studies as Rhodes scholars. Michael's specialty was oceanic physics and engineering, just completing his doctorates, while his sister's was marine biology, oceanography and chemistry with a Master's degree. Despite their recent ages of 18 and 22, they had been granted field commissions on their17th birthday. Due to their involvement with multiple country coastal commissions and search and rescue efforts, they were additionally granted diplomatic immunity.
"Dad, you know what happens when she gets restless—she needs to fly. Since you wouldn't authorize a helo, she dove instead." Michael defended his sister even knowing that her unannounced swim was pure defiance to her father's orders.
Dr. Quimby glanced out the porthole over the ocean. "I never will get used to either of you jumping ship and swimming free. It's not safe." He sighed, tapping his fingers on the desk. He looked over into his son's azure blue eyes. They were so much like his mothers and Scott's. He missed her—she would know how to handle their spirited daughter. "Michael, I'm sorry, but we need to put a rein on her once and for all. Her challenging my instructions has gotten out of control and the men will lose respect for me if I don't get a handle on it. She's even worse since your uncle left on assignment."
"I agree. Dad, there are times that I wish…" he paused, hesitating to share his thoughts with his overprotective, and somewhat doting, father.
"Go on," Dr. Quimby ordered firmly as he observed his son's body language. The poor boy was struggling as much as he was!
"She's really spoiled and you've been very lenient with her since the accident. I get it. But, it was simpler for us when she was little. I mean, I remember you or Scott would give her a good hard spanking and she would keep out of trouble for a couple of weeks. She's forgotten that plus nearly every other boundary you used to enforce. I'm not trying to blame you. We all have been indulgent."
"I fully accept the responsibility for her behavior. You're absolutely right. Regarding your reminder, believe me, Mike, I would love to be able to do that again, but she's 18 now...."
"So what? Scott still takes his ruler to her. Maybe a little humility is needed? Dad, you know I love her, she's my best friend and partner. My life depends on her when we are out there, but seriously, how can I trust her not to brat at the wrong time? You have no idea how many times I've been tempted to lay it into her!" Michael looked frustrated, clenching his fists, his eyes hardening as he flexed his jaw.
"You have your uncle's 'pissed off' jaw twitch, kid. So, why didn't you?"
"She's my sister. We were never permitted to physically fight other than sparring and, well... I don't know. I really didn't consider it," Michael admitted slumping in his chair. "Maybe I didn't want to risk ticking you off. I'm smart enough not to mess with your temper."
"What about hers? She's a force to be reckoned with," Dr. Quimby smiled affectionately, pondering his youngest child's feisty disposition. "Son, I trust you. And I trust you with her otherwise I would never have allowed this pairing. But you are correct that things have to change and I doubt our girl will be very happy about it. It seems like a little bit of old-fashioned discipline is back in order." He sounded sad.
"Are you serious?" Michael asked.
Dr. Quimby stood, his broad shouldered six feet three inch frame looming over the desk. "Yes. Unfortunately, it appears that our young lady is going to be finding herself over my knee once again in a very short time. Yours as well, if needed. You have my permission."
Michael stood to follow his father out. There was no mistaking the family resemblance, except for the coloring. Michael's dark blond hair and bright blue eyes (from his mother) contrasted with that of his father's rich brown hair (with some greying at the temples) and warm brown eyes. Both were of the same height, broad chested and athletic, serious, self-controlled, and with hearty laughs and intense stares. Single minded and on a mission, they left together to try to track down their female family member.
Clinging to the dorsal fin of the young orca as they raced vertically to the surface, Samantha Quimby embraced the feel of the frigid water as it jetted over her cheeks. There was a sharp impact of air as the two cleanly sliced the waves in a high breach and were suspended mid-flight just before the plummet back to the sea. Sam dove gracefully away from the orca's body as she was launched, both exhilarated and euphoric as she flew freely before she returned to the salty depths. She lost all track of time and distance as she swam the open ocean with her constant companion, Ton.
Out of habit, she spoke aloud to the young whale. "This was what I needed today, thank you. That lab is so stuffy." The neuroband communicated confusion at the verbal statement. Sam carefully imaged a small, stagnant pool with a floppy dorsal fin, and felt sadness returned to her. Patting the smooth snout affectionately, she imaged a second thought of an opening that allowed escape from the same pool, receiving a sense of the whale's relief.
The device she wore around her neck was the dual accomplishment of the two younger Quimbys. It linked directly to her brainwaves to transmit the communication of senses to cetaceans within a 50 miles radius, thus allowing the human and cetacean mind to converge through imaging and primary senses. Combined with her extraordinary and unique 'situation', Sam was the closest living being to a fictional mermaid.
Michael leaned over the ship's railing as he watched the grey waves lap the hull. His heart still pounded fearfully as he recalled almost losing his beloved baby sister to the event of only four months past. The two had been on assignment collecting specimens for a research project in the Marianas Trench and testing the experimental diving equipment they wore. It was a simple, routine task until they crossed paths with a small, unmarked submersible. Without warning, Michael was captured in an electric net and pulled into the vessel. Unable to follow the sub's slow descent into the trench, his sister raced up to the ship. She disregarded all safety procedures as she shoved the crew out of the way, snatched the untested Beta Project helmet and placed it over her head before plunging back over the side. Designed by the neuroscience team, the noxious gas was hypothesized to enable deep-water dives without compression or nitrogen issues.
Blackness engulfed her as she swam down past the formulated wetsuit's tolerance, the weight of the ocean atmosphere starting to slowly crush her body. She would not—could not—fail. Michael was in danger. She ignored the excruciating pain of her compressed organs as she exhaled the remainder of air from her lungs. She finally located the vessel just below her and, using her neuroband, called the one animal who could tolerate the depth—the blue whale. Fighting the pain as the pressure took its toll, Sam guided the enormous animal with her mind. The whale swept under the submersible and pushed it to surface without effort. Michael was recovered and the criminals held under custody. Sam, however, was nowhere to be found.
Michael tried to calm his nerves as he recalled the search for his sister. He had been restricted to the compression tanks for five days and only received sporadic information as it was delivered. Despair had filled him, and being unable to join the Recon team was pure torture. They had almost given up hope when one of the men caught site of a large pod of humpbacks breaching unusually close to an island.
Nearly three days after her disappearance, Sam was found five feet underwater, unconscious and, unexpectedly, very much alive! The question was, how? She was unable to tolerate more than a few minutes exposed to air before her lips turned blue in need of oxygen and gasping began. The nearest hospital containing the required facilities was 20 hours away via helicopter and deemed too risky to attempt with the possibility of her suffocating mid-transport. Specialists arrived that same evening, but none could determine the cause or cure to Sam's respiratory problem. Surgical repair to her extensive internal injuries was performed subsurface. She healed physically at a remarkable speed but remained in a comatose state, completely submerged and hooked to IVs for two weeks. Michael sat next to her tank for hours as his brilliant mind computed different scenarios and solutions. One afternoon, while observing the unusual amount of cetaceans crowding the ship's hull, he happened upon an idea and approached his father with the risky suggestion. Desperate, and with no other solution, the girl was kept submerged while placed on bypass. Her lungs were drained, then inflated followed by intubation under negative pressure. It was nothing less than a miracle, but it worked.
One week later, Sam was up and about and breathing without difficulty. Michael observed her staying submerged for inordinate amounts of time beyond her regular capacity to hold her breath. When she stubbornly refused to leave the bottom of the test tank for over an hour, he called his father in as a witness. Testing revealed that the helmet's gases, when placed under the pressure of the trench, had altered her chemical structure. She was now considered truly amphibious with her skin acting as a gill membrane to filter oxygen from the water. With specialized contact lenses and body wear, Sam had complete freedom of the open sea.
"Ready to go, son? Please be careful," the man asked, jarring Michael from his memories.
"Yes, Sir. I'll be back as soon as I can." Michael said, joining the unhappy embrace with his miserable parent. Well, he thought, things are going to change for all of us, baby sister. You left us with no choice. I wish Uncle Scott were here. He makes things so much easier for Dad.
Michael's long body sliced powerfully down through the waves as he dove off deck. He adjusted the face mask and took a deep breath. This was part of the top secret EDS- Experimental Diving System- designed by his engineering team and allowed the unlimited flow of oxygen through the small side 'gills' of the mask. The other EDS devices included motorized boots with propulsion capabilities of up to 25mph, headgear that provided ear protection from pressure while promoting full audio-communications, and the wetsuit designed to insulate down to 10 degrees and strong enough to deflect a shark bite while remaining highly sensitive to stimulation. He was almost impenetrable now to any kind of natural danger.
He was never able to explain the bond he shared with Sam, but he had always been able to sense her whereabouts. When he was younger, his uncle used to tell him that it was his mother's spirit who kept him alert to his little sister's antics. He believed the stories, even now allowing his senses to guide him to her.
Eyes closed to the sunshine as she laid across Ton's back, Sam finally felt relaxed enough to be quiet. Her underwater 'body guards' started to flash warnings and images to her mind, depicting a territorial scuffle with her brother. Hmmm, Michael was hot on her trail and angry. So what else was new? "Might as well face the music," she said aloud to her 'lounger' as she rubbed his side gently before rolling off. She quickly zoomed to a nearby buoy and climbed up. She was finger combing her hip-long auburn hair with her blue-gray eyes half-closed in the sunlight when her brother found her.
Michael studied her for a moment, suddenly noticing her perfectly chiseled face, full lips and high cheekbones. What happened to that skinny little tom-boy with the scabby knees and pig-tails? No wonder the men buckled at the knees when she approached.
"Sammi, are you ok?" he asked, wedging himself next to her.
She flashed him a lazy smile and batted her long, thick lashes. "Of course I am, silly. You would know if there was ever anything wrong. Why did you come out?"
Michael sighed, shaking his head. "Dad has had it with you, kiddo. He told you not to leave the ship without his permission."
"Oh come on," the girl shrugged, tapping her brother's leg with her foot, "he knows I'm safe out here. Besides, I needed to clear my head. I can't work cooped up in a lab."
Michael was silent, contemplating his conversation with their father. No, let him handle it this time. He took her small hand in his large, calloused one. He never had gotten used to how tiny she was compared to the Quimby men as she stood no taller than five feet two inches and weighed no more than 105 pounds when wet. Even so, she was strong as an ox with a temper of a honey badger, exceedingly fast, and gave him a good solid run for his money when sparring in martial arts. Yes, she could take very good care of herself. Still….
"Sam, please, you know how much it scares him. He deserves better than this. He's not the only one who worries. We aren't ready to let you out of our sight yet."
"I am not a child, Michael," her agitation growing as portions of the well-known Jenkins temper (inherited from her mother's side) sparked. "You two need to stop treating me like a baby."
"You aren't a child, although you act like one at times. You know darn well that as long as you are under 21, Dad and Scott still consider you a kid. Hell, I'm 22 and they still try to treat me like one when their mood strikes. That's our family, like it or not. One thing you do forget is that as your superior officers, we are responsible for you. You need to start behaving like the adult you claim to be and consider how your poor behavior reflects on Dad and Uncle Scott," he lectured firmly.
Sam's eyes started to smolder with anger. "I don't need to hear this from you, Michael. You think you know everything and you don't."
"We can discuss this further once we get home. Move it," he ordered in a no-nonsense voice. Sam stared at him, stunned. He sounded exactly like his father! Not that it was a bad thing she worshipped the ground Dr. Quimby walked upon! He could do no wrong in her eyes. She hesitated, debating whether to challenge him or just let him have his way. The little voice in her head screamed the latter. After a quick, angry glance at her tall brother, she silently dove into the gray water.
No words were exchanged as they swam towards the ship. Michael pulled himself onto the diving shelf and, with a single arm, easily hauled his sister up next to him.
"You are to get showered off and return to the lab," Michael commanded softly, pushing her in the direction of their cabins. "I'm going to let Dad know we're back."
"Yes, Michael," she whispered as she turned on her heel and departed. Grabbing a towel, Michael headed towards the offices.
"Enter," Dr. Quimby's deep voice rumbled.
"We're back. I told her to get cleaned up and return to the lab. No problems and everything is fine."
"Thank you. I'd like you to meet me in my quarters tonight after chow. We will deal with her then. Did you say anything?"
"No Sir, although…" he humorously shared his sister's response to his tone.
A smile lit across Dr. Quimby's face. "Your mom used to respond the same way when I got 'manly' with her. Needless to say, once I learned that trick, we never had any arguments." He chuckled. "I'm guessing, after tonight, Sam will learn some things about the men in her family."
"Yes, Sir, I hope so. She tends to be a little hard-headed." His father's confidence did nothing to convince Michael.
"No more than you or I am. I'm fairly certain that I can get my point across to her. Go get cleaned up and back to work. I'll see you tonight."
Michael paused to watch his sister as she propped on the edge of a large tank, decked in sweat pants and a t-shirt, with her bare feet dangling in the water. Unknowingly, she entertained her crew by speaking to the lemon sharks that swam gracefully around the tank. Using every form of verbal enticement and vocal tone she could muster, including some very sultry sounding, lewd promises, she captivated her male audience as she tried to lure the sharks to her.
"My darling little sister, have you considered that the shark might be a female and that your seductive prose means nothing to her?" he teased, watching her blush. She hadn't seen him standing there.
"I, uh, um, I'm doing an experiment!" She blustered as her crew broke into gales of loud laughter. Her glare elicited a sudden dispersal.
Michael grinned as he lifted her off the edge and then playfully tugged her high, long ponytail. "Yeah, in seeing how many of the guys you can get to flock around you. Nice uniform, by the way. Ready to work on the I-band?" he held his hand out for the collar she had around her neck. The rest of the afternoon was happily spent engrossed in their work.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Michael said, escorting his sister from the chow hall that evening, "Dad wants to speak with us."
"About what? When?"
"Now," Michael simply responded, taking her hand and leading her to the upper echelon where the officers were quartered. His grip remained firm as he tapped on his father's door, opening it on the familiar 'enter'. Dr. Quimby was leaning back on his couch, book in hand.
"Hi Daddy! I haven't seen you all day," Sam said gleefully as she pulled away from her brother and parked herself comfortably on her father's large, strong lap. She wrapped her arms happily around his neck and kissed his rough cheek. He hugged her lovingly, returned the kiss, and then placed his hands on either of her shoulders.
"We need to have a serious talk, young lady," he began, trying to ignore the melting of his heart when she blinked sweetly at him with her big, blue doe-eyes.
"We do? Are you ok?" she questioned, managing to appear completely innocent of any wrongdoings.
Michael hid a smirk- this girl was good! She had perfected the art of wrapping her father around her little finger years ago. His too, he admitted shamefully. She had not been as successful with Scott.
"We do. No, I'm not ok. I'm very unhappy with you right now, little daughter of mine," Dr. Quimby said firmly, meeting her gaze. "We are going to incorporate some immediate changes regarding you and your activities."
"Oh, ok. What do you need me to do?" she feigned cooperation as she slowly blinked her long, dark lashes. Michael rolled his eyes.
Dr. Quimby frowned. He was onto her! "I need you to start obeying me. Your defiance to my orders is unacceptable and must cease immediately. This includes your attitude toward your brother as well. For now on, you will be facing some severe consequences should you choose to disobey either of us."
"But Daddy, I don't understand," she blinked sweetly again, snuggling him close and feeling his heartbeat. "What did I do?"
"Don't 'Daddy' me, youngster," he said, pulling her off his lap to deposit her next to him on the couch. He held her chin in his large hand, staring directly into her eyes. Yes, he saw the manipulation and conniving through her exquisite beauty.
Leaning against the edge of a table with his arms crossed, Michael continued to observe the events with amusement. Dr. Quimby launched into a full lecture regarding his youngest child's inappropriate behavior, defiance, and stubborn persistence to bite off more than she could chew. He additionally reminded her that she was only 18, and onboard the vessel due to special circumstances. Michael watched carefully—she had tuned out her father at word one.
"Am I understood, young lady?" Dr. Quimby asked firmly. Sam popped out of her daze, nodding contritely.
"Yes, Daddy. Of course."
"Good. Then I hope we will have no more problems. Comments, Michael?" Dr. Quimby asked, looking at his son.
"Yes, Sir," he said, "I strongly suspect you just wasted your breath. Please ask our perfect little darling exactly what you just told her. She has a near eidetic memory so it shouldn't be difficult for her." He watched his sister pale slightly.
Dr. Quimby raised an eyebrow, slowly turning back to face his daughter. She looked at the floor, fuming about being busted. The man stood slowly, patting his son's shoulder as he walked to the other side of the room to distance himself from his defiant child. He took a deep breath, hands on his hips. "Samantha Anne, I've tried to be patient. I've given you every opportunity to redeem yourself and what do you do? Blow me off. I'm sorry, but this will not go unpunished. Michael, if you would please excuse us, I have some business with your sister."
Michael nodded, noticing Sam's confusion. She had no idea what was coming her way! After hugging his father and planting a kiss on the girl's forehead, he silently left the room. Dr. Quimby pointed to his sleeping quarters at the back of the cabin. "Go into the bedroom. Now," he ordered. Slowly, the girl obeyed and watched as her father closed the door behind them.
He sat on the edge of the bed. "Come here," he held his hands out to her, meeting her eyes. He looked sad.
"Daddy, I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you so upset," Sam whispered, feeling guilty for causing pain to her beloved father.
Dr. Quimby squeezed her hands. "Things are going to change, my love. Tonight. You best pay attention this time. Your brother and I feel that you need to be reminded of some important details. One, 18 or not, I still consider you a child. Your lack of maturity confirms that. Two, you are in a unique situation which requires you to be focused and self-disciplined to keep you and your brother safe. Three, I am not only your father, but your superior officer. Since all methods of communication have failed to make you take us seriously, I have decided to revert back to a method which used to be quite effective in getting you to mind me. At least, for a week or so."
"What are you talking about? You can't ground me, I have things to do!"
"No, I'm not grounding you. I will be spanking you."
"What?" The girl flushed, her hands still in her father's grip. "I am 18 and an officer! You can't do that!"
Pleased with her immediate aversion to the prospect, Dr. Quimby continued calmly. "Thus far, it seems that nothing else has managed the gain your attention. I have also given your brother full permission to take you in hand if needed. I am not to hear one word of complaint from you if he feels you require discipline. If you snitch, expect a repeat performance from me. Understand?"
"Why are you being so mean? This is barbaric!" Sam cried out, tears in her eyes as she tried to break his grip. "It's not fair!"
"No, Sweetheart, what's not fair is how you repay our trust and confidence in your abilities by defying, disobeying and deceiving us. No, baby girl, that stops now. Over my lap. This isn't the first time you've been in this position."
"But I was 10," came the reply with a struggle to escape. She remembered that time clearly. It occurred after she took off to find her brother without permission. It had started with a very painful strapping.
"My mistake. I should have listened to Scott and not have stopped. You never pull this stuff with him around and now I understand why. I've been too lenient and have allowed you too much freedom. No, my love, boundaries and consequences are back. You have until the count of three, or I will get the belt and use it on your bare backside. One.... Two...."
Fearfully, the girl positioned herself over her father's muscular, broad thighs, grabbing his calf to keep from falling over. She held her breath as he rested his hand on her small, shapely backside. The first smack over her sweats startled her, but did not particularly hurt. She kept silent as he landed several more swats across her bottom. He stopped, seeing no response. "It doesn't look like I'm getting through. You have a choice, sweats down with my hand or they stay up and I use my belt."
Gasping, his daughter twisted to look at him. Was he serious? Yes, his expression told her there was no question of his intent. She also knew that he wouldn't use the web belt from the uniform closet. "Please, Daddy, no belt," she whimpered, remembering way back when he had used his belt on her over her jeans. She hadn't been able to sit for two days. She hated that thing. She buried her head in his pant legs as he skimmed her sweat pants down to her knees.
"These are not regulation, young lady," Dr. Quimby said with disapproval of the pale pink, scanty satin undergarments.
Sam quivered slightly and bit her lip. "Please, Daddy... not too hard."
Dr. Quimby didn't answer, just rested his warm hand on her bottom. "Samantha, you will not disembark this ship again without my permission or knowledge, do you understand me?" he lectured, lifting his hand and giving each of her cheeks a solid smack. No reply was needed. He resumed his assault on her soft flesh, this time receiving satisfactory yelps, pleas, and attempts to escape. He was a strong man with a heavy hand, and in less than 5 minutes, managed to reduce his wayward daughter to tears mingled with promises to be good and listen to everything he and her big brother told her to do.
"Owww! Owwww! Yes, Daddy!" she answered.
"You will not talk back to your brother—SMACK SMACK—you won't show anymore disrespect to your elders—SMACK SMACK—understood? SMACK SMACK SMACK!"
"Yesssss, Sir" she cried.
He kept up the rhythm, alternating cheeks, lighting bottom on fire. "Owwwwwwww, Dadddddyyyyyy... pleeeease," she begged. "Please stopppp."
"No, honey," he answered, now concentrating on the sit spots. "You intentionally disobeyed me and I'm teaching you a lesson. I'm far from finished."
That sentence made her cry even more. She started to howl and all she could do was concentrate on was the rapid fire being inflicted upon her aching bottom. She kicked as best she could, squirmed a little to attempt to dodge smacks, and clasped her hands together with her face buried into them. "Daddddddyyy," she bawled, "I'm sssooorrrrrryyyy!"
"I know, Sammi. I know," but he kept spanking, occasionally hitting the sit spots and her thighs. He even started spanking harder, which she did not believe was possible.
She began choking on her tears. "P-leasee... I w-on't d-do it-t again!" she sobbed. "I'll be g-good!"
She could not feel his heart breaking with her pleas. "I'm sorry, baby. I have to do this."
Even though she was bobbing up and down and kicking with all her might, she knew he was right—he did have to do this. She deserved it, as much as she hated to admit it. Her sobs increased as the spanking neared its end. She finally held onto the couch and buried her face into the cushions, not squirming or kicking anymore, just crying.
He took this time to deliver a final smack, covering her entire backside, and then rested his hand there. "Sammi, you're my baby girl and I love you so much. I'm so afraid of losing you."
"I'm really sorry, Daddy . I love you, too," she cried, feeling like a five year old. With the fight well spanked out of her, Sam was released. She crumbled to the floor, crying pitifully into her hands.
Without a word, her father handed her a tissue before joining her on the floor to hold her tightly. "Please don't make me do that again," he whispered, kissing the side of her head.
She sniffed, leaning into his shoulder. Stroking her hair, the man sighed. He wished it would be the last time he would have to resort to old-fashioned methods, but knew that wishes rarely came true when it came to his youngest child.