She wanted to run, yet her feet drew her on, her will crushed by the overwhelming pressure to conform, to marry Ed, to obey Ed, to cook for him and clean for him, to go down on her knees to him, to worship him. She would wear dresses and housecoats. She would avoid speaking to other men and accept just punishment if she did. She would do as she was told, stripping for him, stripping for his drunken friends, obedient, placid, kept.
The priest’s smile grew broader as she reached Ed’s side, the smile of a patient father figure, of a dog trainer watching a recalcitrant bitch come to heel. She hung her head, unable to meet his gaze, feeling small and helpless, a tiny thing caught in the wants and needs of bigger, more important people.
Music, of which she had scarcely been aware, now stopped, leaving a heavy silence. The priest raised his chin, preparing to speak, only to stop abruptly at the sound of a high-pitched snigger. Lily looked up to find a girl climbing on to the font, naked and tiny, her face a fine oval with large, mobile features and great green eyes. Despite her size she pulled herself up with ease, sinking into a squat over the basin, the pink of her vagina clearly visible in a puff of black hair. Her imp face twitched into a smile and a stream of gold erupted from her vulva, splashing into the font with a tinkling sound quickly lost beneath the outraged cries of the congregation.
Ed moved, striding forward to catch the girl, only for her to leap away, laughing and spraying him with urine as she went. He cursed, snatching up a heavy candle and advancing on her as she backed, her face twitching with merriment, her strange eyes locked on his. Beyond her, high windows of stained glass stretched up into blackness, blocking her retreat as Ed swung the candlestick in quick, menacing jerks. Lily called out, begging Ed not to hurt the tiny girl, her voice ringing loud in the silence. The girl laughed, flipped backwards, jumping away and flaunting her naked buttocks at Ed in a gesture of defiance and insolence. Ed cursed again and above him the great windows exploded in a shower of coloured glass, a vast tentacle smashing through, uncurling, reaching for Ed…
Lily woke, panting for breath, her skin prickling with cold sweat. Ed lay beside her, deeply asleep. She reached out, wanting comfort and the reassurance of his arms, only to pull back, certain that if woken in the early hours of the morning with work the next day he would provide neither.
Violet stood above Aldon cliffs, as before. As before, the sea stretched away, blue and twinkling with reflected sunlight. St David’s was visible, and the stacks, with a sailing ship running in towards Tawmouth harbour. She turned, knowing what she expected to see, frightened yet also defiant. Sure enough, the priest and workmen stood as before, around the open mouth of the Wythman, only now staring at her pop-eyed.
Looking down, she saw that she was nude, her Ianthe tattoo clear on her belly, her amethysts sparkling in the sun. Smiling, she turned, bent, displaying her naked bottom, the rear of her sex and the fresh, purple tattoo on the buttock, her octopus. The priest hissed in anger, calling her a whore and a witch. The workmen stiffened, their faces growing stern, yet also lewd. She danced closer and he called out a command, ordering her taken and beaten. Violet laughed in his face, raising her hands and calling on the god.
The priest’s face went puce, the men came forward, the largest already loosening his belt. Behind them the mouth of the barrow remained empty. She stopped, uncertain, calling again, then moving back as eager hands clutched for her. Again she called, trying to run, her muscles sluggish, refusing to allow her escape. Hands caught at her, she tripped, sprawling on the grass. Her hair was taken, her ankles gripped, her legs jerked apart. The belt came down on her buttocks, the priest echoing her scream with a call for harder, more savage blows. She called out again as the belt struck once more, her plea now filled with urgency and fear.
The open barrow was before her, visible through the legs of the man holding her hair. His hand was fumbling at his fly, struggling to release his penis for her rape. Something moved, something green and glistening in the barrow mouth, a great head, two huge eyes staring out, a knot of tentacles writhing from where the mouth should have been…
Violet screamed, the priest cried out in terror, the man at her head started to shake her like a doll and she was awake, with Nich’s hand on her shoulder and Yasmin bending over her in the dull red light of the fire.
Six
Mr Hobbers let his breath out, wondering for the hundredth time if there wasn’t some mistake in his logic. Since meeting Thomazina he had been filled with a fascination that simply would not go away, also regret. The fascination came from the knowledge that somewhere not too far from Tawmouth there existed a farmhouse where young girls were regularly spanked on their bare bottoms. The regret came from his failure to push Thomazina’s innocence and sexual acquiescence to the point where she would have ended up across his knee with her magnificent bottom a ball of burning red flesh.
She would have let him, he was sure of it. Her acceptance that girls needed to be punished, her understanding of men’s sexual needs, the simple innocence of her character, her respectful attitude to her elders, all would have combined to make her do as she was told. She had been nude in his shop, the most desirable girl he had ever met, not just nude either, but nude with his cock in her hand, even her mouth, yet he had failed to take advantage of the situation to get her across his knee. It was unbearable, and he was determined to discover where she lived, not only to find her again but also her apparently equally delectable little sisters.
He had guessed her age at nineteen or twenty, which made Emily and Jane likely to be perhaps eighteen and sixteen. That meant their names would appear in the records for the early 1980s, and Thomazina’s local know ledge had been too good for her to come from anywhere except the Tawmouth district. Also, her innocence and the details she had revealed about life on her farm suggested a very old-fashioned family indeed, not least the fact that the girls accepted bare-bottom spankings as quite normal.
Working on what he knew, he had decided that the farm would almost certainly be on the long spit of high land across the estuary. This was largely agricultural, and mostly National Trust land, with few houses. The only village, Abbotscombe, was tiny, while he could identify only seven working farms. None were Thomazina’s, nor those to the north of Tawmouth, leaving him wondering where he could have gone wrong.
Now, standing in All Souls’ Church in Abbotscombe, he had finished a conversation with the vicar that had proved no more enlightening than any of his earlier research. The vicar was old, and had held his living since 1967, yet he had never performed any service whatever for three girls named Thomazina, Emily and Jane.
Leaving the church, he turned into the graveyard, reading the stones as he wondered if he should investigate records further afield. Looking at local gravestones always gave him a quiet satisfaction, with so many of the past inhabitants having reached impressive ages. Abbotscombe was no exception, with many octogenarians and some even having reached ninety. Carved in hard slate, the inscriptions read clearly, even those from the eighteenth century, and his thoughts moved away from Thomazina, then came abruptly back as he saw the same name on a stone.
It was not a headstone, but a small slate plaque at the foot of a bigger grave, dedicated to the memory of a Thomazina Keeley, who had died on 21 June 1853, aged seventeen. A lower line revealed that she had disappeared one night without trace and expressed the trust that she was in heaven. His mouth curved up into a sad smile as he read the inscription over, thinking of the distress of the young girl’s parents, who were presumably the occupants of the main grave. Sure enough, one of the twin headstones recorded a Mary Keeley, born in 1818, dying in 1894, aged seventy-five. The other recorded a Thomas Keeley, a farmer, born in 1813, dying in 1885, aged seventy-two. Both had lived long lives, if not exceptional ones, certainly less than the woman beneath the next grave, an Emily Draycott, who had made ninety-six, still less another a little way behind, Jane Pardue, who had died in 1943, aged one hundred and four.
He stopped and s
tepped back, then read both stones again. Emily had been born a Keeley, so had Jane, in 1840. For an instant a cold knot of horror formed in his stomach, only to dissipate as he realised he was being foolish. The answer was clear. The girl was a local, but a fake, probably a thief, using a dead person’s name to hide her identity. The explanation went with the coin, which was in far too perfect condition to have spent several hundred years among the mud and stones of Tawmouth harbour. Doubtless she had stolen it from some private collection and added the details of her supposed little sisters and the spankings as a somewhat macabre joke. Probably she had worked it all out in advance, getting wet, asking to undress, everything, just to make sure she got full value for her coin. It made sense, her discovery of his spanking magazine just making her job easier, while her being unable to read had clearly been a pretence.
It had been a trick, yet he had the coin, and would be able to sell it the next time he went to a fair in London, so he felt less than cheated. Then there had been the pleasure of her body, which had meant a lot to him even if she might have considered her actions trivial. Still, the situation raised interesting opportunities, as if he could only find her, then the little brat would be in no position to refuse the spanking she so badly needed and which he so badly needed to give her.
He would research the disappearance of the real Thomazina, and if he could find her he would confront her with his knowledge. Then he would be able to demand that she submit to a thorough spanking without feeling the least guilt for what he was doing. It would, indeed, be justice.
‘‘‘Closed Thursday’’, it says,’ Elune stated, giving a petulant kick at the door of Mr Hobbers’s shop. ‘Why don’t you learn to read?’
‘I will, one day,’ Thomazina answered.
Elune answered with a derisive snort.
‘So,’ she said, ‘no more money and I don’t even get to watch you spanked.’
‘He ought to be in,’ Thomazina insisted, looking up to the windows above the shop. ‘He lives up there.’
‘He’s probably staring at the girls on the beach,’ Elune answered, ‘or gone flashing, or chasing nymphs in the woods.’
‘I don’t think he’s like that,’ Thomazina replied. ‘He just likes to spank girls’ bottoms.’
‘They’re all like that,’ Elune said firmly, ‘or else they’d like to be if only they dared. It’s only natural. Men chase, girls run, and if we please, we let them catch us. True, there are girls like you who don’t run much, but you’d get caught anyway, with your great wobbling bottom and ridiculously large breasts, so why bother?’
‘Do you want to be punished again, Elune? Remember how the sea anemone hurt?’
‘You wouldn’t dare, not here. I’d pretend to be eleven and say you were my wicked stepmother. They’d arrest you, and lock you up, and feed you porridge crusts with sperm on top…’
‘Oh, nonsense!’
‘That’s what they made Aileve do, last time. She told me. A big fat policeman made her suck his penis and he spunked up all over her breakfast, then made her eat it.’
‘I know, but that was last time. Besides, I could hold your ear and take you somewhere private. Anyway, we’ll have to get you some clothes. Even on you that bikini looks rude. People are starting to stare.’
Elune responded with a pirouette, causing an elderly woman to throw Thomazina a dirty look and make an unheard remark as she passed. While the blue bikini covered Elune’s tiny body, they had had to knot it at the sides of the pants and behind her back, creating a look that had passed on the beach but was drawing attention in the town. Taking Elune by the arm, Thomazina pulled her quickly towards a clothing shop and inside. The assistant turned, smiling benignly as they entered.
‘Good afternoon,’ Thomazina began. ‘My sister has had her clothes stolen on the beach. We’d like to buy something.’
‘Stolen?’ the woman answered. ‘Whoever would do a thing like that? Have you told the police?’
‘No, no,’ Thomazina answered. ‘We really don’t want a fuss or anything. Have you a frock in her size? And some drawers.’
‘Well I really think you ought to report it,’ the woman went on. ‘I mean, it just won’t do, will it? What’s your name, dear?’
‘Linnet,’ Elune answered.
‘What a sweet name. Well now, how about this?’
She held up a dress, loose cotton in canary yellow with a lacy fringe. Elune made a face.
‘That will do nicely,’ Thomazina said quickly, ‘and a pack of girls’ drawers.’
The assistant moved towards the desk, brushing close to Thomazina and wrinkling her nose. Realising that she probably smelled too strongly of the sea, she decided on buying something for herself. A display of jeans stood at the end of the shop and she made for them, pulling Elune behind her.
‘We’ll get a pair each,’ she said, ‘and tops, and new undies for me. I think I’ll get blue, they seem popular.’
‘Excuse me,’ the assistant called, and Thomazina turned to find her making hurriedly for the door.
Before Thomazina could protest, the assistant had returned, along with a policeman.
‘Sergeant Perkins,’ she said, introducing him to them. ‘I really couldn’t let such an incident pass. This young girl has had her clothes stolen, Sergeant, on the beach.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Perkins answered. ‘When was this?’
‘About an hour ago,’ Thomazina answered, ‘but we really don’t want any fuss. We just came in to buy some new clothes.’
Perkins scratched his chin, his eyes flickering over Thomazina’s chest. His lust was obvious, and as she struggled for the best way to escape his attention she wondered if simple bribery was not the answer.
‘Did you see anybody?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Thomazina answered, echoed by Elune.
‘No idea who it might’ve been, then?’
‘No,’ Thomazina repeated.
‘And what exactly was stolen?’
‘Little pink panties, a tiny crop top and cut-down jeans, nice tight ones that leave most of my bum showing to tease the boys.’
Elune had answered quickly, leaving the assistant staring at her and the sergeant with a puzzled frown.
‘She’s joking,’ Thomazina said quickly and threw Elune a warning look.
‘I had my clothes pinched, big deal,’ Elune went on. ‘It was probably just some pervert who wants to jerk off in my panties anyway. Let him have his kicks, I don’t care.’
‘Exactly how old are you?’ Perkins demanded.
‘Why, do you want a wank too? Don’t worry, I’m old enough. I’ve got no panties, but I’ll do you with my sister’s bikini pants. A fiver?’
‘Elune… Linnet, be quiet!’ Thomazina snapped. ‘She’s sixteen, officer.’
‘Come on, officer, nothing like a good panty wank,’ Elune persisted. ‘A tenner and I’ll suck you first. Twenty, you can do it in my mouth, all the way, or you can spunk in my face!’
‘Why you dirty little —’ the assistant cut in.
She grabbed for Elune, who danced to the side, laughing.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Thomazina stammered. ‘She’s —’
‘Just calm down,’ Perkins ordered. ‘All of you, just calm down.’
‘Yes,’ Thomazina agreed, only to see Elune grab the dress and panties from the desk and dart for the door.
Perkins followed, also the assistant, calling out in anger. Thomazina ran, pushing past the assistant in the doorway and turning away from where the sergeant was already in pursuit of Elune.
Sergeant Perkins reached for his radio as he ran, only to hesitate at the thought of how his colleagues would react to an assistance call for the pursuit of a sixteen-year-old shoplifter, and a girl at that. Postponing the decision, he put his full effort into the chase, sure that he would eventually catch her. She was well ahead, laughing and dodging among the crowds, the yellow dress fluttering from her hand to mark her like a flag. Her laughter was annoying him, yet her
obvious lack of experience brought satisfaction. She would be caught, and then she wouldn’t be laughing any more.
He saw her jump to one side, into the mouth of an alley, and his set lips turned up to a brief smile. The alley led to the first part of the old docks, nothing more, a dead end serving a cluster of warehouses and an old boatyard. He followed, sure where she would go, and slowed to a walk as he saw her ahead, scrambling over the gates that shut off the boatyard.
She was trapped, and he came after at a walk, climbed the gate and hesitated, wondering if she intended to hide and double back while he searched for her. Doing his best to seem casual, he walked to the door of the great shed in which the boats had been made, expecting her to dart from cover at any moment. Instead he saw her as he entered the huge, empty building. She was perched on one of the massive iron moorings beside a ramp, her legs crossed, her hands folded over one knee.
‘None of your friends with you, then, officer?’ she asked, her tone as impudent as ever.
‘I don’t need backup for a scamp like you,’ he answered, closing the door.
He pushed an oil drum against it, closing off her escape unless she chose to jump down on to the mud. If she did she was caught anyway. At under five foot tall she would hardly be able to make her escape through the thick harbour mud.
‘Good idea,’ she said as the drum grated into position.
‘Best to be sure we’re not disturbed.’
‘What do you mean?’ he demanded, walking towards her.
‘Well it wouldn’t do to be caught while I’m giving you your wank, would it?’ she answered. ‘I mean, what would the inspector say?’
Deep Blue Page 13