Lost Times

With a laugh I took her hand and we walked with the joined hands swinging. I looked over to where James was still making Marcie's life hell that we weren't at a strip club. As far as it went I was actually happy this had turned out as it had. A day of watching James make a fool of himself with strippers, in front of his girlfriend, would have been a slow form of torture no matter how beautiful the dancers were. Looking down at Mary Kay's face, I knew that I would have much rather have had her strip for me.

Looking over at Allen I frowned. He was still standing, staring blankly, at the same painting. I looked at the image before him and it was gruesome. A woman, with the face of an angel, tied naked to a post with her back a criss-cross pattern of red lines from being whipped. Why Allen, a normally gentle man, would find something like that so compelling I don't know. I was just beginning to worry about him when I saw Cathy shake his arm and he seemed to come out of it. He looked around for a moment lost, then focused on her face. I was now the one compelled to watch as he leaned in and kiss Cathy...fiercely!

"Awe, that's adorable. Why don't you take notes?" said Mary Kay tugging my hand. "You never kiss me like that anymore." Her lip poked out in an adorable pout. "I'm feeling unappreciated."

With a smile at her greedy, non-subtle demands I leaned in and kissed her. Her kisses were playful as always, more teeth and tongue than lips. Her fingers toyed with my shirt buttons as we kissed. She leaned her body into mine, I hugged her to my chest and she moved her lips away to rest her head on my chest. Her arms tightened around me till they were almost painful.

"I love you." She gave a tight squeeze. "Sorry this wasn't what you guys thought it was going to be. But Cathy and Marcy wanted to come see this exhibit. They think they are some kind of uber-cultural, art know-it-alls. You, know twice what either of them do about these paintings."

"I just like art. In any form." I shrugged a mixture of embarrassed and not-quite-sure if I should feel insulted by how she had put that. "To me your tattoo is just as much a work of art as that Titian's "Venus of Urbino"

She looked to the painting I was pointing at and shrugged. "That's real art, my tattoo is just silly flowers."

"But they are on such a beautiful canvas," I said in a low voice.

She blushed and looked away. Unable to help myself I ran a hand across her lower back, my hand tracing through her shirt the pathway those flowers flow over. When my hand dipped to follow the vine trail down toward her ass cheek she moved away from me. "Come on. Let go look over there."

Chuckling, I followed her down the hall.

"Oh! I didn't know they had these here," she said excited.

I glanced around me at the painting of sailing ships, every one of them had some element of nude woman added to them. In the waves. As the figure heads. Even in the clouds.

"I don't like this one. That's just horrible." I heard her say from next to me.

Looking around, I saw the painting she was looking at. A man was standing behind a woman, who was lashed to a ship's grating, a rope cat-o-nine-tails held above his head ready to strike. A second man was rushing towards the scene to stop the brutal punishment from happening, and there was an angry looking Captain figure moving forwards as well to make sure the man didn't interfere.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The men holding my arms were gripping me so terribly tight. Where did they think I was going to run to? When I was dragged through the hatchway and onto the deck of the ship my eyes are light-blinded, but I still tried to hunt that endless dark blue to light blue horizon line for any sign of land. It's been so long since I've seen land of any kind, my mind hungers for it.

Nausea hits me again.

Trying to keep from retching, I let them carry my weight more, since they seem intent on doing that anyway. I'm so terribly week from all the sicking-up. I wish this horrible journey was over, but they say we have two more months still to go! The two sailors take up my weight easily and drag my feet along the deck. I just let my head hang. I'm too sick; it's all too much. To even be having to watch this would be too much for me, let alone being the one being punished. And for what? Suckling my baby?

Worry over where my daughter Elspeth is hits me again, as it has for the whole two nights I've been locked in that dark hold, hung with iron chains. Hardly able to move for their metal weight. Who had my baby? Who has been feeding her? Have they somehow gotten her goat's milk? How? The Captain, and his noble born travelers, they have kept that all to themselves the whole voyage. Has my little Elspeth gone hungry? Surely not for two days! I would have heard her screaming for my breast.

A small, thin-sounding drum begins a slow beat. I looked at the upraised ship's grating and started to tremble. No!

The two men holding me tightened their grip, and I heard a humorless chuckle from one of them. They dragged me to the grating and pulled my arms up.

"NO. No. Please, no," I begged.

A man with a small, round hat stepped forwards to stand next to me and blew on a small metal pipe-whistle. The older, fancier dressed man next to him stepped forwards, his uniform immaculate.

"For the crimes of lewd conduct, insulting the uniform of an officer of the Queen's navy, and the attempted seduction of said officer the punishment of thirty lashes has been deemed appropriate punishment for the dishonor to the uniform, and the pride of her Majesty's navy and to the personal dishonor the officer suffered. Bosun's mate, prepare the condemned."

One of the men, who had dragged me here, grabbed at the back of my thin blouse and, despite my struggling, ripped it from me.

"Apply the cat."

"NO," I whimpered. "Please, no."

My face flooded with tears and I tried to hug the wood grating in front of me. Anything to get away from the rope whip that was about to hit me. I looked around at the men standing leering at me, my breasts bare before their eyes.

I looked up and saw a sick sexually-indulgent, pleasure grin on the face of the Captain. The man that had bumped into me below decks while I carried Elspeth at my breast, her nuzzling for milk. He had hit me so hard she had been knocked from the pap and his uniform caught a few drops of my milk. When I had attempted to apologize he had begun to scream for his sailors to "Clap her in irons!"

Now? Now he looked like a randy stud horse, cock all out and ready to break the reluctant mare that dared tell him no the first time. To bite her and cause such pain she gave way. That was what this man, this officer looked like. Nothing more than a common animal.

"This will not be borne!" The man's voice came from behind me.

Trembling, from fear and the chill, I looked back to see a man step from the gathering, loosening his jacket buttons as he walked forwards.

"Sir! Take back your place!" Ordered the older officer.

The man gave a young officer that stepped forwards a look that quelled him in his steps. The man stepped up next to me and tossed his coat over the top of the grate, then went to work on the ties of his shirt.

"Any congregation of men that will willingly stand to the side while a woman is beaten before their eyes, then I say there is not a man, a true man among them." His eyes scanned the crowd gather to watch my punishment. His shirt was placed on top of his coat. I saw him look towards the Captain. "And you, that I am now ashamed to call kin, brother. To order such, you...have proven thyself to be much less than even those that would stand and watch."

I felt the warm skin of his chest pressed against my back, and his hands came to rest on top of mine.

"I will not let them harm you, not ever again." His words were by my ear, a gentle tone, spoken with little breath, soft velvet whisper. So at odds with the powerful thunder of his voice, as I had heard it so far, as to be from the mouth of a different man. I felt him turn to look at the man with the whip. "Be about your business, sailor."

How I found the courage to dare to look up at the Captain's face, I know not, but the terrible rage I saw there was hideous. Far greater than when my milk dripped from his buttons. He made a slashing motion with his hand and gave a nod. His lips were pressed together in a line harder than the horizon line.

There was a grunt of air and the man behind me pressed harder into my back. Then a rope-on-meat smack followed instantly.

"ONE!"

I listened to the count as the numbers climbed. The man behind me was uttering not a sound of pain, not even a whimper. His hands on mine were dreadfully tight but I too bespoke no complaint. Not even when one lash came around his ribs to pop my skin. The terrible burn of that sting began to grown and I wanted to whimper. But how could I? When the man behind me had already suffered silently though fifteen such strikes, full on, and for my sake! Through pain-clenched teeth I heard again his voice.

"Mind thy aim, sir! If that whip touches the flesh of this maiden again, I will have the satisfy my honor upon your flesh." There was a steel calm in his voice.

"SIXTEEN!"

I heard it. The first sound of the terrible agony this man had to be enduring. The space between us had become nothing; he was pressed hard to me, his skin now peppered with sweat. He moved forwards with each strike. So like the taking of my maidenhead was the feel of him upon me that to my horror I felt myself seeping, growing wet, my breath had quickened as well. The next few strikes fell without a sound from him, but at twenty-one he again gave a low moan, so low none not as close to him as I, could have heard it.

"I'm sorry, step away," I begged. "Sir. Step away, this punishment is mine. I will take the last."

"Hush, lass." He spoke directly into my ear. He flinched and again that small moan slipped through his lips. "I was a soldier. My skin can take far more than his weak strokes."

"TWENTY FIVE!"

When he moved against me this time I felt it, this man's body was betraying him to hardness. And that hardening rod was pressed against my bottom, the plumpness there cushioning it. He seemed to notice it as well.

"My apologies," he whispered, and at the next strike gave a groan that was almost loud enough to be heard.

Why, I did what I did, I know not. Perhaps the heat against my back, the maleness of him, the months without the feel of a man close to me, not since Elspeth's father died of the flux. Perhaps it was his noble character, the suffering he was enduring for my sake, but whatever the reasons when the next strike fell I pushed my bottom back to meet his forward, agonized thrust.

He gasped, but in shock, not pain. Then when the next stroke landed his body all but crashed into my backside and it was me trying to stifle a moan.

"TWENTY NINE!"

So close now, just one more lash and I would take this man, this tender man, and see to his wounds. I would tends them, care for him till his flesh healed and, I made a vow to the Virgin Mary, that whatever he wished of me this wonderfully delightful man, I would gladly give. Give to him and feel blessed that I had been allowed to give it.

"THIRTY!"

"AND TEN MORE FOR HIS INSUBORDNATION!" The Captain's voice was like a thunder from above.

That petty tyrant--did this man not call him brother?-- if he hoped to torture a sound from this man behind me, he clearly did not know his own kindred. But I knew him, knew him well. And I vowed I would, before this voyage was completed and I found myself exiled in Australia, know him far, far better.

The pain must have been beyond bearing, but I lent my back to his chest to hold his weight. It was now my hands that held tight to his. Still I gave a small thrust, too small to be seen by others but hard enough for him to feel it when those blows landed and he moved forwards against me. Blow after blow falling upon his poor back.

"FOURTY!"

The gentleman's soft sob of relief was heard only by me.

"Thank you," I said in a whisper shared. "I could not have lived through that."

Slowly the man moved from my back. He straightened to his full height, looked the Captain in the eyes and calmly picked his shirt and coat from off the rack next to me and laid them over his arm. He leaned into my ear.

"It was nothing that any true man would not have done, but you are welcome," he said, his voice calm. His eyes alone betraying his pain.

"CUT HER DOWN AND GET THEM FROM MY SIGHT." I watched the Captain stride away to his hallowed quarterdeck.

When the ropes holding me were gone, I turned to the gentleman next to me and saw to my horror the bloody red mess that was his back.

"Let me tend to your back. I have some small skill at nursing. I have some herbs in my baggage, I brought for myself should I need them, but they will help such as that." I took his hand into mine. "Come. Please?"

His steps faltered as he went to move and I let him use my arm to hold his weight. As we descended into the darkness of the hold and out of sight he stopped and let himself lean into the wall next to him. Letting wood hold his weight fully. I moved around to support him if he looked to fall. He looked down into my face, and at the torn rag that had been my shirt and that I had tried to tie about me to offer coverage. Least I offend again.

He handed me his coat.

"What is your name, my lord?" I asked when the warm gray wool surrounded me.

"Stephen."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

"I could be watching the golf channel and see more fuckin' female ass than this." I muttered to myself as Marcie dragged me from painting to paining. Now I'll admit some of these panting—they're kind of cool. The one with the whole octopus thing, now that was something wild to see.

When she turned me loose I dodged into one of the other exhibit halls and pulled out my phone. I quickly zipped through a couple of crap things till I hit the sports highlights. I was just looking over the odds when I looked up to see Steve looking like a store mannequin. He seemed all but frozen in front of a painting. His girlfriend Mary Kay was shaking his arm but he didn't seem to notice. She looked around frantically for a second, and I began to worry, then he blinked and glanced around him. My head tilted and my eyebrows climbed when Steve reached around to feel at his own back. In several place.

He grabbed his girlfriend and hugged her tightly.

"I think the cheese done slid off his fuckin' cracker," I said, quoting my favorite movie...well, one of them anyway. With a shake of my head I was about to go back to trying to figure the odds on Saturday's game, when I saw Marcie look around the corner. I pocketed my phone, and to hide what I had been doing, looked around me at the gallery I was in. My mouth tweaked up in interest.

"Now this is more like it," I said, with a grin begin to plaster its way across my face.

"I should have known I would find you in here." My girl said with that predictable disapproving shake of her head. She slid in next to me and curled her arm into mine. "Why are you such a pervert?"

"Hey, now these are art," I said in my defense.

"They're girls tied up with ropes!" The quirk of her mouth told me that she wasn't buying it.

Moving around behind Marcie, I turned her to look at the large picture that covered half of one wall. The woman in the photo-like panting was suspended from the ceiling in a spider's web of ropes and knots, her body interwoven with them like she was wearing braided clothes. The little plaque read: Rope Suspensions by Hikari-Kesho

I leaned in to by her ear.

"Now honestly tell me you wouldn't fuckin' love to be her?" I asked her in a low whisper, the type I know gives her shivers. "And don't lie. I've had you beg me to tie you to the bed too often to not know that you wouldn't enjoy that."

Marcie's breath caught and she looked around to see if anyone was watching. Just a hint of a smile touched her lips. She looked around again and reached back between us and ran her hand over the bulge in my pants, feeling the length of me. She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled.

"If you will behave, for the rest of the day like a civilized man, and try to make an effort to enjoy the artwork, we can stop on the way home and buy some rope. But only, if you behave." She warned and promised. Turning in my arms, she went up on her tip toes and gave me a peck of a kiss. "Now, I want to go someplace else that doesn't involve pictured of girls skinnier than me."

"Hey, I like your curves," I protested.

"I know you do. Come on."

With a sigh, I left the first interesting thing I have seen and was dragged back into the high-snobby-zone of the museum, where there are tons of paintings that all look like the same thing. Women hiding behind ferns, in trees, with strategically placed pieces of furniture. I saw something that looked at least more modern and put pressure on Marcie's hand to guide us closer.

"What? Oh, no I don't want to look at those. Those are more like medical text book pictures than art."

She pulled at my hand but I didn't notice it at all. I was looking at a large sketch of a woman, near life sized; it looked like she had been...

** ** ** ** ** ** **

"DOC! Open Up!"

With alcohol pounding my head harder than that fool was pounding at my door, I gave some serious thought to put a few pistol shots through my own door. But gave up on that idea almost instantly. First, the sound of a gun going off in this small room, right now as sick as I felt, as bad as my head was hurting, would probably be lethal to me. Two, I would have to have my door repaired. And third, I would then have to patch up the bullet holes in the fool behind the door.

Pulling myself to myself up, I resisted the urge to vomit on my own feet.

"DOC!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming...yeah noisy bastard," I muttered. Putting my feet in my shoes, I walked across the hard-packed, dirt floor to the door and give the thing the strong yank it takes to make the forever-stuck-in-its-own-frame door open. Damn incompetent carpenters. I opened the door to a blazing lantern in my face. Shielding my eyes, I looked at the man holding it. Jed Watkins. "What?"

"Doc, come take a look!"

Jed went to grab at my hand to pull me out my own door but I shook his fingers away. Looking past him to the small wagon he owned I saw a pair of dainty, dirty, bare feet stuck out the back.

"It's the middle of the damn night, Jed." I gave him my best go eat horse shit look. "If you've woke me up for a drunk I'm forcing castor oil and asafetida down your throat."

"No Doc. It's a lady. She's in a bad way." He again grabbed at my arm. "Found her out on the road near my place. Was taking my cattle out to the watering hole for them to get their morning drink, when I saw a wagon parked in a strange place. It was all torn up like. Stuff scattered around it. Couple of the cows got startled when this here lady moaned."

Walking out to the wagon, I saw two things before I even saw the woman. The red rope marks around her ankles where her skin had torn, and that Jed's old jacket was draped across what must be a totally naked woman's body. Looking down into the back of the wagon, Jed stepped up next to me and pulled the coat off a bit to show me the woman's back.

I snarled to see the damage.

"Looks like they done things to her, bad things. Then they tied her to her own wagon wheel and whipped her for the fun of it." Jed, explained, his slow voice full of sympathy he sounded like he might be about to cry.

"Help me get her inside. Then go fetch me a bucket of water, from the well mind you. I want it cold." Taking her on one side, we worked to carry her into my place and to the table where I look at my patients. I glanced over and found myself looking at the old cotton-seed-lined, wooden and tin chest I bought years back. "Better yet, come here. Take this up to the snow line and fill it for me. Yeah, all the way up there," I said when he began to protest. "Take your horse, not the wagon, you will make better time. I need it as quickly as you can get it back to me. Now get!"