Haven

Chapter One
 

by Reesa Roberts
 Copyright © 2007

Note: This is not a complete story. For the entire story, please join our website here.

With an impatient wave of her hand, Charlotte Winchester dismissed the hovering steward at her side. Stretched out on the promenade deck in a lounge chair, she took off her sunglasses to more evenly expose her fair skin to the blazing midday sun that had melted the ice in her drink for the fourth time. She slid one manicured nail alongside her breast to adjust the strap on her new bikini bathing suit. She smiled to herself, remembering the shocked stares she’d received from other passengers on this voyage. Most of the other women poolside were older, married, covered with bright cotton cloth to their knees, and surrounded by their excited young offspring, who cheered at every ocean wave that managed to trickle onto the deck’s port side.

For goodness’ sake, it was 1947 and the bikini was all the rage. Had these women dwelled in caves all their lives? Charlotte absolutely loved her seven bikinis, and she smiled secretively again, remembering that Vogue magazine editor Diana Vreeland had said that it revealed “everything about a girl except her maiden name.” It had been banned at Biarritz and other resorts, but here on Matson’s ocean liner, the SS Lurline, there were no rules. Just long, lazy days of plush comfort, luxurious decor, and gourmet food.

They weren’t entirely living up to their reputation, though, mused Charlotte. One would think that this particular steward had cotton for brains, as he was apparently unable to anticipate even the tiniest need. She’d actually had to wave the man over three times now, to bring her a fresh drink. One just couldn’t get good help these days, not even on a tropical cruise. With a sigh, Charlotte took one last dainty sip of her vodka and tonic, then slipped away into a pleasant dream.

The steward, John Alderly, stood at attention beneath the largest umbrella, relieved to be out of the heat, if only for a few moments. He was quickly learning exactly how spoiled and selfish some first class passengers could be. The young Miss Winchester was the worst of the lot, constantly complaining even when everything was perfectly wonderful and all of her desires attended to. This was his second voyage in this capacity, and hopefully, his last. All he needed was enough cash to see him through his senior year at the University of California this fall. If he were lucky, one tip from a generous socialite would finance an entire semester of life’s basics: food and rent. His luck had been horrible so far, though - he had to get off this assignment, and soon. The cabin and dining room stewards were pulling in over three hundred dollars a day!

John watched as Charlotte adjusted her bathing suit top. It wasn’t actually a bathing suit - it was a mere four triangles of nothing, and the most scandalous thing he’d ever seen. Why, if she moved just an inch more to the left, he’d be able to see her entire breast! If she were his sister, he’d take her over his knee for wearing a thing like that in public. Of course, if she were his sister, he wouldn’t be admiring the view in quite this manner, either. Miss Winchester had not only been blessed with a silver spoon, but her body was fantastic. Full, rounded breasts strained at the thin material that bound them. A flat stomach and long, muscular thighs stretched along the lounge chair. Her finest asset, however, couldn’t be seen at this moment; her glorious backside. Pert, round cheeks that were larger than one would expect on her lean frame. Such a waste on this particular woman, he thought. Her face in repose was like one of Michelangelo’s angels. High cheekbones, long feathery lashes, the tip of her nose turned up just a touch - and when she opened her eyes, one was struck by the unusually pale blue color. Even her light brown hair was pretty - cut to a fashionable top-of-the-shoulder length and curling about her ears in a most charming way.

“Steward!” came the raucous call from that gorgeous but annoying form. What a waste, he thought again.

John sauntered over to her side and stood, inwardly impatient for more instruction. Although he served the other passengers with grace and anticipated their every need, he just couldn’t make himself cater to this peacock in the same manner.

“I need a towel.”

With an audible sigh, John turned about smartly to head back from whence he’d come. He delivered the requested article by dropping it onto her smooth but reddening belly.

“Clumsy twit,” muttered Charlotte, swinging her long legs to the side to sit up. Her ankle bumped against his shiny black loafer as he stood at her side, again awaiting her next demand.

“Do you need assistance, Miss?” he asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“No, I need you to remove your sorry presence out of my way,” she bit out, “or I’ll have you removed by the captain!”

As the captain was a friend of his uncle’s, and the reason he’d secured this unfortunate but usually lucrative role, John didn’t feel a drop of remorse.

“Why, certainly, Miss, I’d be happy to honor your request.” John stepped back quickly, knocking over the little wooden table that held her drink and jewel-studded cigarette case. The items fell to the deck just as John, most clumsily, slid his foot to the right as if to regain his balance, kicking the small but expensive case right into the sparkling pool waters.

“You bloody dolt!” exclaimed Charlotte. “Look what you’ve done! You must retrieve my cigarette case, and quickly!”

John glanced down at her heaving chest and glimpsed one full nipple where the material gapped. “Certainly, Miss,” he replied, and then kicked off his shoes and dove into the pool. What a blessed relief, he thought, as he swam down to the bottom, where the glittering case had come to rest. Cool, soothing water and utter silence enveloped his senses.

Charlotte stared in shock into the pool, watching John’s shimmery form glide effortlessly to the bottom. She saw him grab her case with one hand, and then he shot up from his feet, bursting up above the water to draw a deep, gasping breath. It was rather like the dolphin show she’d seen last summer in Florida. Until he splashed her. His long arms shot out to either side as he pretended to struggle to stay afloat, sending waves of water across her with every other stroke. Charlotte stood, wrapped the towel around her, slipped her feet into her stiletto sandals, and marched herself off to the captain’s quarters. That lazy, rude, despicable servant would soon see the last of his job; she’d make sure of that! John watched her bottom jiggle as he slowly climbed out of the pool.

Charlotte lay restlessly in her opulent first class state room, sipping on hot chocolate as the ship rolled back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. She pulled the safety belt more closely around her. If this damned ship didn’t stop moving soon, why, she might even get seasick! The horror of that thought sent her bolting upright on the queen-sized bed. She needed to summon the ship’s doctor for some ginger tonic, and fast. Although she’d felt hale and hearty the past several days, she’d heard some perfectly revolting stories about those who’d succumbed to the constant movement. Not that anyone had related these to her, of course, as such talk would be beyond a young lady’s sensibilities from her peers’ standpoint, but she’d overheard many conversations in the constant soft buzz of conversation that permeated every meal in the grand dining room’s sumptuous arena.

Moving carefully over to the door, she pulled the bell cord down with a violent jerk. The golden tassel came off in her hand, and she stared at it in disgust, waiting for an answer to her summons.

John strode briskly down the plushly carpeted hallway toward the blinking light above the middle doorway. He had excellent sea legs, and rarely stumbled, even in the present rolling motion of the ship. After Captain Williams had had a good laugh over poor Miss Winchester’s trials, he’d promoted John to the cabin area, where wealthy families had been known to leave hundred dollar bills on their pillows for fine service. Eagerly knocking on the cabin door, he stood back to await the occupant’s pleasure. As the door flew open, though, he saw a flash of pink satin nightgown and in an instant, he knew. Fate hadn’t smiled on him tonight, nor on any other night thus far. But this was just too much. How could Williams have done this to him? The old man was known for his practical jokes - it wasn’t very funny from John’s point of view, though.

When Charlotte didn’t see anyone just outside the door, she peered out into the hallway. Him! Not again! The man should’ve been thrown overboard! Screwing up her eyes in anger, she threw the gold tassel at him, hitting him square in the chest. He stood unmoving, watching as it rolled over and over down the hall.

“May I be of assistance, Miss?” asked John, in his snootiest tone.

“I don’t know, can you?” She arched one eyebrow in a derisive question. When he didn’t reply, she shrilly announced, “The bell cord’s broken off, there! And, I need the ship’s doctor here, quickly!”

“I’ll wake up the maintenance crew to repair that cord, right away,” he mockingly drawled. “The doctor, however, is currently engaged with Mrs. Henderson, who happens to be in the last stages of childbirth. I’m afraid he can’t be disturbed at this time.” John crossed his fingers behind his back at this bald untruth.

“Well, well...” sputtered Charlotte, now truly outraged, “Have the chef make me something to settle my stomach, then! I want it here in five minutes!” With that, she glared at him one last time before slamming the door shut.

“Oh, my God,” groaned John, retreating toward the stairway. With due diligence and against his will, he went to the kitchens to relay Miss Winchester’s message. When he was handed a steaming cup of beef broth, with a gold-edged plate of crackers, he smiled in sudden mirth. Turning toward the condiment station, he added a healthy dose of hot pepper sauce to the broth, arranged a few pretty lemon slices and parsley bunches along the edge of the plate, and hurried back to cabin 107. He already knew that he wouldn’t make one shiny penny from this miss, so what did he have to lose?

The lady took his gifts at her door without a word, and then slammed it shut once again. John moved only a few feet down the hall, braced his back against the wall, and waited. It wasn’t even a full minute before he heard loud thudding sounds from 107, and then the light over the door blinked on a split-second before the door was yanked open and a flurry of shiny pink satin flew out.

Charlotte stopped still in her tracks at the sight of the steward lounging against the wall. With sudden insight, she fixed her glare upon his seemingly innocent brown eyes, and yelled, “You did that on purpose! You poisoned my broth! What kind of a servant are you? You thug! You’re a bloody menace, not a steward!” Staring down at the cup she’d planned to march with to the kitchens, she impulsively threw its murky, brown contents straight onto the steward’s brilliant white uniform lapel.

John slowly stood to face her, straightening up to his full height of six foot one. Pinning her flushed face with his now steely eyes, he felt a small tug of satisfaction as she suddenly took a step back, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she spit out, uncertainty rushing through her, an oddly unfamiliar sensation. The steward’s expression was one of superiority, yet he was well beneath her class! He took one step toward her, and she panicked. Whirling about face, she darted back into her cabin and threw the door shut - onto his shiny black loafer, which was now wedged against the doorframe!

John pushed hard on the door, and it gave a few inches. With a grim smile, he mightily shoved it open, sending Miss Winchester onto her buttocks at his feet. She looked up, lips thinly pressed together, and threw the cup itself at him. It bounced off his thigh and rolled harmlessly across the carpet. John turned, shut the door firmly, and locked it. He heard the young lady scrabble across the floor towards the closet behind him.

Faster than a striking cobra, John reached out and plucked her from her flight into the closet, threw her bodily over one shoulder, and staggered to the bed as the ship rolled aft, aiding her fall onto the soft, pillowy mattress.

“Are you crazy?” she managed to shout an instant before he plunked himself down and grabbed her by both arms.

John, having remained mute to this point, decided that it would be best to continue in this manner. He easily hauled her over his lap and landed the first of nearly two dozen hard swats to her silk-clad buttocks. Although she kicked her feet and squealed quite satisfactorily throughout the quick volley, he didn’t feel very gratified.

Spying a large, round ivory hairbrush on the nightstand, he reached over and picked it up. Perhaps she’d heard the sound as it scraped along the varnished walnut veneer, as her struggles became more frantic. John jerked her gown up, baring her ass to his hungry gaze. Perfectly formed rounded globes quivered beneath a slightly pink blush.

“SMACK!” went the smooth back of the brush as it flattened one cheek. John held tightly to Miss Winchester’s hip as he watched an immediate rosy color arise on that virgin (he’d swear) alabaster skin. Now, this would definitely do the job! “SMACK-SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!” He cringed as she erupted into a screaming wail that would’ve brought the entire crew to her rescue, had the sea outside not been crashing about them so loudly.

Perhaps that was a little too much, he pondered as she bucked against his rapidly hardening shaft. “SMACK!” He tried a softer blow just below the curve of one globe, and she reacted predictably.

“You whoreson bastard!” she screamed. “SMACK, SMACK, SMACK!” ‘You’re killing me! You’ll be fired for this! AAAAIIIIIIIGGGH!” John developed a steady rhythm, laying on just enough force to quench her ability to form words. All he heard were squeals and long, sobbing moans as he blistered her methodically from the tops of her now glowing orbs to mid-thigh. When her body went limp in final acceptance, he pushed her legs apart and whacked the tender, inner skin a few times. This brought more screams, but he felt she certainly deserved it and more.

“Now, Miss Winchester,” he spoke loudly but clearly above her wails. “You’re undoubtedly the most selfish, spoilt little princess I’ve ever had the misfortune to cross.” He lowered his voice now, as her sobs quieted. “I don’t intend to spend the rest of this cruise catering to your every whim!” He couldn’t resist another few sharp smacks to her brightly glowing red cheeks, which interestingly enough, elicited no response but a few wiggles of her toes.

“Yes, sir,” cried Charlotte, startling him with her clearly submissive tone. He rested one hand on her burning cheeks, and her hips rose up ever so slightly as she turned to look up at him. His anger now spent, he looked down to see her reddened eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. She was still beautiful. He pulled out an always-present, freshly pressed, white handkerchief and blotted the tears that pooled alongside her nose. She tentatively took it from his hand.

“May I get up, please?” she sniffed a few times and waited, pressing the cloth against her face.

John was frankly astounded at the change in her attitude. Quickly deciding to take full advantage, he sternly replied, “It’s bedtime. I’ll tuck you in.” He helped her to sit up, then pulled back the covers as she slid beneath them. With gentle hands, he fastened her safety belt and smoothed down her gown. As he sat by her side, adjusting the pillows around her, he felt an unfamiliar tenderness warming his heart. “I’m sorry about the broth; I’ll bring you a fresh cup, now.”

Her large blue eyes blinked back at him. “Thank you,” she replied.

Charlotte’s new behavior didn’t last through breakfast the next morning. During the weekly fire drill, she mutinously refused to participate. By lunchtime, she’d berated the new poolside steward several times, and had given the boutique’s clerk a thorough scolding over an entirely imagined incompetence. This, John overheard as he was carrying a meal tray to one of the seasick passengers. Upon his return to the galley, he met Charlotte in the hallway, headed towards her cabin. She put her nose in the air and stuck her tongue out at him. He immediately interpreted this as a need for further discipline, and escorted her poste-haste to her quarters.

After a long, hard, bare-bottomed spanking, John took off his belt, positioned a willing Charlotte over the bed pillows, and laid over fifty stripes across her red bottom with the thin strip of leather. When he told her she could get up, she threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her closely as she cried. It soon became a familiar pattern, until he was spanking her every morning, noon, and night for the next several days.

Charlotte thrived on the attention. She’d never been spanked before, and she loved the loss of control. She loved the feel of her glowing bottom afterwards, and she loved to see the stern look on John’s handsome face each time he took her to task. She fantasized about him using even harsher implements. She dreamed of them making love together, although she was a virgin, as were most young women of her class. She inevitably began to act more kindly toward the staff, but John continued to visit her cabin and blister her backside on a daily schedule. Charlotte was in heaven. When his arms were around her, comforting her after each punishment, she felt loved and cared for, for the first time in her life.

Roger Ward stretched out in his hammock, willing his tired muscles to relax. A cool breeze wafted across him, bringing with it the ever-present scent of tropical flowers.

As always, dreams of his former life invaded his mind as he drifted off to sleep...

As the First Assistant Engineer Merchant Marine on the Liberty ship, George W. Norris, Roger was well used to both hard work and danger. He’d moved up through the ranks, from wiper, to fireman, to watertender, to third, then second, then first Assistant Engineer, responsible for all workers in the engine room and fireroom. He’d lived through two torpedoes and a typhoon in his wartime tour of the Pacific. After the war ended, he’d stayed on to carry cargo and personnel for the occupation phase. He’d been in line for Chief Engineer when the Norris had hit a mine one quiet night last year, blowing out a full section mid-ship. Roger had awakened instantly upon impact, had quickly pulled on his rubber lifesaving suit, and had reported to his station above decks.

There, he’d found several dozen crewmen trying to free up the lifeboats. Then the captain had appeared in their midst, yelling to all that there had been no order to abandon ship. He’d then directed all able-bodied men to various assignments. Roger had been sent to inspect the damages and report back.

The entire midsection was ablaze below the boot deck, and oil from a ruptured tank was burning in a rapidly growing pool across the churning waters. As Roger scrambled for footing on his way back to the captain, he heard the engine shut down, and then the floundering cries of comrades in the sea. He stopped to hastily throw several life jackets overboard. Reporting back to the captain, he was then assigned to overseeing the men putting out the fires below deck. Although he was the only man still in his rubber suit, he kept it on due to the blazing heat alternating with cool seawater down below.

After an hour of directing the men, he once more went above to report that the fires were nearly out. The surrounding water was now calm, but still blazing, and few men were on deck, as most were fighting the fires. Roger went up to the wheelhouse, where he found the captain and chief mate. After reporting, he headed back down to the crewmen, when suddenly he slipped, sliding across the deck toward the starboard side. The ship walls were solid metal two foot high, with a rail at the three-foot level, meant to keep crew and cargo from falling overboard. Unfortunately, as Roger struggled to his feet, one of the thirty-ton booms broke loose, its winch slamming into him and knocking him over the rail, into the blazing waters below.

Roger had time enough to drag in a deep breath just before hitting the water. He sliced through the burning oil like a hot knife through butter. His left side burning in pain, he swam down deeper and struck out away from the ship. The salt water burned his eyes but he kept them open, frequently glancing up at the fire above him. It seemed like an eternity before he finally looked up to see the edge of darkness, yet it was only about forty-five seconds. Striking for the surface, he emerged a mere five feet from the burning oil. Gasping for breath, he leaned into a backstroke and swam away a few more yards. Although he yelled for help, no one heard, and returning to the ship wasn’t an option. By the light of the flames, he spotted one of the life vests bobbing in the sea. He swam towards it and put it on, letting his arms rest for a while.

Roger woke up to the familiar hum of the engine. Incredibly, he’d actually fallen asleep, and now the ship was leaving! He began to yell as loudly as he could, but saw no one on deck as the ship slowly turned about and then moved off, its speed increasing. He never saw it again. When he next awoke, it was daylight and all he could see was the black pool of oil on the surface of the water. Even though it was no longer burning, if he were caught in that mess, he’d never get out. He swam away from it, towards what, he didn’t know. He swam off and on all day, keeping a sharp lookout for sharks. What he’d do if he saw one wasn’t clear, but he watched nonetheless. He fell asleep again near dusk, his lips dry and salty, his thirst nearly driving him out of his mind.

Roger washed ashore, unconscious, on a remote island near the Tuamotu chain, an archipelago of French Polynesia, sometime before dawn on March 15th, 1946.

To Be Continued...