Fiction: Pirates Cove

It's been almost eight years since I posted a new fictional story. In keeping with the theme of spanko nostalgia, this tale goes much farther back to a very special Independence Day weekend.

“I’m serious, Dori. This weekend is my birthday present to you, but I need you and your friend to take good care of my cottage. If I have to hire people to clean it, I’m not going to be happy.”

“I know, Uncle Bernard, and we’ll be good.”

“And please, no boys.”

“Yes, I promise.”

Bernard was the older brother of Dori’s mom. He always said that he worked in media, but she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. What she did know was that he was quite successful and owned several houses. Despite his solemn demeanor, Uncle Bernard always had a soft spot for his only niece.

Her birthday present from Bernard was the keys to his cottage at Pirates Cove for the long Bicentennial weekend. At 3:30 on Friday afternoon, Dori and Ellen, her college roommate, packed their luggage into Ellen’s tan Volkswagen Beetle and set out for the coast. Dori had her doubts about the road worthiness of this battered bug. But this was an adventure!

Ellen and Dori chatted over the radio blare. Ellen was fed up with her boyfriend. They met during the first week of their just concluded freshman year. At their small private college, it seemed as though couples paired off very quickly. Ellen said she felt stuck with him mostly because she didn’t want to go places alone. But enough was enough. He was an immature, boorish, drunk. She was ready for a change. She wondered whether she might meet a new guy.

Dori divided her time in the car between listening to Ellen’s grievances, viewing the scenery, and enjoying the music on the radio.

          Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac

          Crazy on You by Heart

          Dream Weaver by Gary Wright

          Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

Not knowing the words to that last song didn’t stop the pair from singing along and laughing at their own invented lyrics.

As they headed into the coastal mountains, the aging chariot’s sputtering whine increased in pitch. Soon after, the radio station faded into static. The steamy heat of the city gave way to the alluring scents of a lush Oregon forest. Tall trees lining highway 18 gave the appearance of passing through a living tunnel.

When they reached the coast, the early evening was cool and clear with a brisk breeze blowing in from the Pacific. The ocean shone a brilliant blue with whitecaps closer to shore. Upon arriving at the cottage, Dori and Ellen surveyed their new temporary abode.

“This place is amazing!” Ellen exclaimed. Indeed, the small cottage was elegantly furnished and fully equipped. The women carried their bags into their respective bedrooms and decided that it was time for dinner. They changed from their tank tops and cutoffs into summer dresses more appropriate for a dinner outing.

When they arrived in the small town of Depoe Bay, they immediately recognized that they had miscalculated. The entire town was overrun by tourists and their cars. They too had all come to the ocean to celebrate the Bicentennial. Every restaurant seemed to have a line out the door. “This is a problem,” Dori said, “I’m hungry.”

They eventually found a crowded but accessible market further down on the Pacific Coast Highway. They spent a whole forty dollars on food they could cook and goodies they could enjoy. They returned to the cottage a bit dejected. Not only would they not get to dine out, there would also be no bar hopping, meeting boys, or dancing either.

Their dinner turned out to be unexpectedly tasty. Dori pan fried some fresh rock scallops while Ellen created a green salad. It was a satisfying meal, but hardly the evening they envisioned. There was absolutely nothing to watch on the small color television, so they talked about everything.

“What is this place?” Ellen inquired.

“What, Pirates Cove?”

“No, this cottage. Why would a single guy with no kids want a place like this?”

“I dunno. Maybe he entertains clients here or just wants to get away sometimes.”

Uncle Bernard had always been a bit of a mystery to Dori and they eventually retired to their beds quite certain that they couldn’t solve it.

Saturday dawned sunny and cool. The women planned to walk on the beach in the morning. Even in July, the water was far too cold for swimming, but they wore their bikinis anyway. After all, it’s summer.

After a long stroll along and occasionally in the ocean, the pair returned to the cottage. They were understandably sandy. Despite their best efforts, part of the beach followed them home. The Beetle was very sandy, but that was a minor concern because it wasn’t exactly clean before. But the carpeted floor of the cottage was now covered with a conspicuous amount of light colored sand.

“I wonder if Uncle Bernard has a vacuum cleaner. Let’s look.” Despite their best effort, Dori was unable to locate any such device. She thought of calling Bernard, but the cottage had no telephone.

“Wait, what about this closet?” Ellen asked, tugging firmly on a doorknob that appeared to be stuck. “It’s locked.” As soon as she blurted out those words, the lock abruptly gave way and the door flew open.

“Uh, Dori. You might want to come over here.”

“Did you find the vacuum?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What then?”

“Oh my Guh...,” they muttered in unison barely above a whisper.

The walk-in closet held an armory of kinky sex gear – Paddles, straps, canes, restraints of every description, a bench for spankings and sex, dildos, vibrators, plugs, lubricant in tubes and jars, costumes, and some other items that were completely unknown to two 19-year old college girls.

“Now what are we going to do? We broke the lock.”

“No, Ellen, you broke the lock.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Unless we can figure out a way to fix this, Bernard will know we broke into his stash room and learned his secrets. I sure don’t want to explain it to him. Come to think of it, I don’t want him to explain any of this to me either.”

The women swept the sand out the door as best they could. Then they decided to contemplate their next move over delicious crab roll sandwiches.

“What if I use that big paddle on your butt?”

“No way.”

“C’mon. I lived with you for an entire year. Don’t think I don’t know that Hank spanked your butt every weekend.”

“Yeah, that was about the only part of that relationship I enjoyed.”

“So it’s settled. You’re going to pay for the broken lock with a paddling. Get over that ottoman.”

“Dori, you’ve lost your mind...”

“You heard me. Now go.” Dori retrieved a formidable wooden paddle from the toy closet.

“Oh shit. At least close those blinds” Ellen positioned herself over the ottoman.

“I have a feeling these neighbors have seen far worse than you’re about to get.”

Dori delivered five heavy swats in quick succession to the seat of Ellen’s bikini bottom. Ellen barely had time to gasp before the next one crashed down. She tried to remain quiet, but it simply wasn’t possible.

After the five swats were delivered, Dori returned the paddle to its original position.

“Ow, that hurts so bad!” Ellen screeched as she rose from the ottoman clutching her chastised cheeks. “Hank never spanked me like that.”

“Well, now we have that out of the way, I’m going to go out to the shed in back and see if I can find some tools.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Relax, it’ll be fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say. Your ass isn’t the color of those Dungeness crabs.”

“Face it, Ellen, you love it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’m going to look for some tools in the shed.”

Ellen lay on the couch vigorously rubbing the site of her continuing discomfort.

Dori soon returned with a toolbox in one hand and a vacuum cleaner in the other.

“Was there more scary stuff in the shed?”

“Nah, not beyond cobwebs and the usual creepy crawlies.”

“Eek. I’m glad I didn’t go.”

“Why don’t you sweep while I work on this door lock?”

“Okay.” Within a few minutes, both had completed their tasks.

“I don’t think he’ll ever know, but we can wait to close this door for good, just in case you need another spanking.”

“I didn’t need that one.” With that, Ellen went to the bathroom to examine the extent of the damage.

“I’ve got an idea,” Dori suggested. “Let’s head into town at 4:30 instead of 7:00 and see if we can get a table.”

“All right, but I’m going to need a cover-up back there.”

“Just put on your cutoffs. No one will know.”

“They’ll know if they watch me try to sit down! My bottom still hurts a lot.”

“It’s a spanking. It’s supposed to hurt, right?”

Ellen replied by sticking out her tongue.

As they agreed, they drove into town at half past four. As Dori had hoped, the crowds were slightly thinner than the previous day. They were able to secure a table at a seafood restaurant named The Sea Hag. There, they enjoyed clam chowder and a shrimp and crab melt. As she had predicted, Ellen found the wooden seats to be very unforgiving. It felt like being punished all over again.

By the time their meal concluded, a line of would-be diners had formed both inside and outside the restaurant. As they split the bill, Dori suddenly halted in mid-sentence. She realized that she had left her money in the bedroom back at the cottage. When she told Ellen and asked whether she could cover the bill, a slow smile came across Ellen’s face.

“There’s a price, you know.”

“Okay, okay. Can you cover us?”

“Sure, I have my Mastercharge. You can pay your share at the cottage.” Dori already knew they weren’t talking about cash.”

Once the credit transaction was complete, they drove back to the cottage. Not a word was exchanged during the ten minute trip.

“Time to settle your debt, Dori. Don’t even think about trying to talk your way out. Damn, this thing is heavy, but it’s perfectly balanced. Your uncle has excellent taste is bottom beaters. Now get over.”

Dori knew there could be no appeal. She took her position over the ottoman, just as her friend had earlier, and awaited her fate.

“Five.”

The paddle swats given by Ellen were slower and more deliberate than those she received. She waited for the pain to settle in before administering the next flaming dose. Dori’s scant bikini bottom offered precious little protection from the mounting paddle strikes. Unlike Ellen, Dori expressed her distress vociferously. Between the paddle’s loud report and Dori’s cries, it was difficult to imagine that neighboring cottages were unaware of the spanking taking place.

When it was over, Dori made her way to the couch, hopping as she went.

“I know,” Ellen said, “Let me get my Polaroid. I want to capture this moment.”

“Wha…?”

“Here, show me your butt.”

“Not unless you do it too.”

“All right.”

Click. Zip. Dori’s thoroughly paddled behind was now captured for posterity.

“Now you. Wait, no fair. Your marks have faded. Let me freshen them up for you.”

Ellen hesitated momentarily before agreeing. “Just one swat, okay?”

“Yeah, one.” Ellen returned to the ottoman and began to prepare herself for the inevitable.

Whack! Dori delivered the hardest swat yet before Ellen expected.

Click. Zip. Ellen’s newly brightened paddle burns were memorialized.

“Ow. That was totally no fair. I wasn’t ready!”

“Well look at the great picture I took.”

“Ow. It even hurts to look at it.”

Dori and Ellen discussed their trip and boys and spankings and next year at college and the Bicentennial the following day before going to bed around eleven.

Sunday marked the two hundredth birthday of the country, but it was just another day at Pirates Cove. The women again walked the beach, though not wearing their skimpy bikinis this time. The sounds of the surf and smells of the sea were somehow both relaxing and invigorating. A group of whales was visible just off shore, including mothers with calves. Dori and Ellen were more careful this time to leave the sand outdoors. A neighbor gave them a strange look when they returned to the cottage, but there were no other consequences from the previous day’s percussive pastimes. Except, that is, for that dull ache that remained to remind.

Sunday evening, the roommates watched Bicentennial events on television, though poor reception caused their attention to stray. So did a joint that Ellen brought for the occasion.

The irrepressible misty Oregon rain returned on Monday as Ellen drove back to Portland. This had been a good trip, but not quite what either of them had anticipated. As they passed back through the verdant tunnel of trees, Dori looked at her friend and suggested, “I think we need a paddle for our dorm room.”

“Yes,” Ellen replied in a matter of fact tone, “Definitely.”

“It’s going to be a good year.”

“Yeah, and be sure to thank Uncle Bernard.”

I hope you enjoyed Dori and Ellen’s holiday weekend. May yours be safe and pleasant!