The captain and the maid

In my very naughty daydream I imagined myself as a stowaway on a ship. I think I’ve run away from my dull life as a maid in a port town, and fancy seeking my fortune in the colonies, where the ship is bound.

A ship’s boy discovers me hiding between coils of rope. He’s cute, so I try to buy his silence with intimate favours, but both of us are promptly caught in the act by a passing officer, and dragged in front of the dashing, strict-looking captain and his furious first mate.

At first the boy is accused of smuggling in his girlfriend, but as he had been mostly nice to me, I confess that it was me who’d led him astray. The first mate insists that both of us should be tied to a mast for a flogging with a cat-o’-nine-tails. After this he suggests locking me up, so that I can be handed over to the authorities on arrival – I had, after all, been stealing food ever since I’d sneaked aboard. The captain is a reasonable man, though, despite his stern demeanour. He rules that the boy and I should get six strokes of the cane each, and afterwards the captain will give me a opportunity to earn my passage to the colonies by being his personal maid.

This is exactly the sort of life I’m running away from, but something in his eyes makes my insides melt. “Are you going to be strict with me, sir?” I ask timidly.

“Reasonably so,” he says. “Rest assured, if this means you must have your posterior warmed before the marks of your caning have disappeared, I won’t hesitate to do this. I’m giving you chance: don’t make me regret it.”

I swear that I won’t. But I can’t help looking at his hands.