The Siren, the General's Daughter Book One

by Breanna Hayse

  This was a rare event, a sparring match of this caliber. In training, they were all equal. The older team had more experience and bulk and the younger team encompassed speed, determination and a bond that none could compete with.

  Michael took his sister aside to warm up. “Listen, no matter what happens we need to let them win. Give them a good run, but when it’s time, throw in the towel.”

  “No way, Michael, I never throw a fight! Besides, what makes you so sure we’ll win? They’re terrifying me,” she whispered back. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen such expressions on the older men’s faces.

  “Yeah, they got me worried, too. Ready partner?”

  “Ready.”

  The contest was one of the toughest any of the four had encountered. The older team after decades of training together, did well but failed to anticipate the ‘tricks’ of their opponents. After a solid hour of non-stop wrestling, throws, kicks, punches and dives, all four lay exhausted on the matts, panting for air.

  “Had enough?” Dr. Quimby asked his son, whose head rested on the man’s chest.

  “Yes, Sir. Uncle Scott? Enough?”

  “Yeah. Sam? Sam?”

  “Not me!” she shrieked, diving on top of the three of them. The referee slapped the matt declaring her the winner.

  Dr. Quimby rolled over to grab her arm. “Oh no, you don’t, you little cheater! You thought that if you looked cute, it would help. Didn’t you, brat? No way! We’ll see how cute you look now,” he announced, hauling her across his lap in full view of the onlookers. Cheers rose as he started to playfully, but convincingly, swat her bottom in time to the delightful clapping of the crew.

  She began to kick to escape. “Ok! OK! I give up! OW! Enough! Let go,” she yelled, trying not to cry. The spanking hurt, even with the wetsuit underneath. Dr. Quimby pushed her to the floor and then pinned her down on her back. She shrieked even louder as he bit her neck and rubbed his rough face against her cheek. The crowd roared with laughter.

  Scott pulled Michael to his feet to give him a hug. “Good match. For us, anyway,” he grinned, watching his friend poke his fingers in the girls’ ticklish sides, making her squeal. She was finally released and panted heavily, unable to rise from the mat.

  “You cheated.” Michael said with a grin, drinking some water.

  Scott punched his arm. “So did you. You think I didn’t notice your suits?”

  “I don’t think Dad did,” the young man chuckled, watching his father resume a tackle with his sister after she jumped him from behind.

  “It’s good for them to play. He forgets how to, sometimes.”

  Dr. Quimby approached them with his daughter perch over his shoulder, her bottom in perfect position to take a whack at. He laughed, landing an occasional swipe upon the now-tender rump. “It’s past their bedtime. Come on kiddies, off with you now. Here, take this.” Dr. Quimby said, handing his youngest to his eldest.

  Michael easily hefted her over his shoulder, landing a playful smack as well. “Night. Here, kiss it,” he turned so Scott and Dr. Quimby could land a hearty kiss to the girl’s forehead. With another playful smack from all three, she was carried away by her brother.

  “Mike, put me down. Please.”

  “No way, you are still too feisty. How are you feeling?”

  “Like every bone is bruised, including my butt bone. They can really pack it on for old people.”

  “It didn’t feel like anything was edited either. I have some bruises in areas I forgot existed. Good thing we wore the suits or else we wouldn’t be moving tomorrow. Scott saw, by the way.”

  “They cheated, too. Did you see how many times the ref called for them when they didn’t rate?”

  Michael dumped her on the bed, plopping next to her. “The poor guy is more afraid of them then us. Ow… do you have any ibuprofen?”

  “Medicine cabinet. Bring one for me too.”

  “Here. Let’s try not to do that again anytime soon, ok?” Michael requested, flexing his neck and shoulder.

  His sister gently rubbed it for him. “Deal. So, do you think we won?” She grinned mischievously. Michael grinned back, nodding fervently.

  ***

  “I would like to know when those two got to be so good in the ring.” Dr. Quimby asked, rubbing his shoulder before planting an ice pack on it.

  Scott winced, doing the same to a large bruise on his upper thigh. “They have some moves that’s for sure. And that little one, where the hell did she get that reserve energy? You don’t even see her coming. I lost count how many times she dove under my legs and tripped me!”

  “She’s young. She can really throw a kick too. How’s my back look? She got my kidney.”

  “I think I see one spot not bruised,” Scott said, poking near the spine.

  Dr. Quimby looked at his muscular torso in the mirror, tenderly touching a rib. “I think it’s broken. This probably wasn’t a good idea.”

  Scott nodded, also studying his equally muscular torso and pronounced swelling to his chest. “I will admit it, but only to you. They kicked our asses. Need me to wrap that?”

  Dr. Quimby nodded, hissing as Scott tightened the bandage around his rib cage. They redressed before leaving to grab another brandy. It was going to be a long, sore night.

  Chapter Six

  “I’m going to count to three, little girl, and—”

  “Are you sure you can count that high? You are an engineer,” came the smart answer from her perch high on the boom. It was the last few days of being on ship and she sought every opportunity to ‘fly’ before they went to dock. Michael put his hands on his hips. He had things to do and she was holding him up. The crewman gathered around him and chuckled. Michael rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for her games.

  “Samantha Anne, I am warning you. If you don’t come done this instant, I will paddle your bottom in front of all these men. I mean it!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” she jeered, although his expression told her otherwise. She watched her crew-mates gather with interest. Gulping, she shimmied down the post 10 minutes later. “Happy?

  “No, not yet. I warned you.” Michael snarled, grabbing her upper arm and dragging her to a nearby bench. She shrieked as he launched her across his knees and landed a heavy loud smack across her short covered backside. The men clapped, laughing as she yelped. She had been giving them all a lot of grief lately with her attitude and ceaseless pranks, so they were quite satisfied with the payback she was receiving.

  Michael’s hand landed sharply and quickly, a blur of spanks focusing on the tender and insufficiently covered creases between her upper thigh and bottom. She fought back her tears, determined not to show weakness in front of the men. A loud hiss was heard over the side as nearby whales began to spout. They were responding to her pain and started to breach.

  “I’m from her pod!” Michael shouted, not pausing in his flurried swats. He finally stopped, standing her to face him. Not one tear. He saw where this was going. She was going to be the heroine of the ship, taking all that without even crying. “You are to go down and report to Dad right this minute. You are to tell him what happened, including calling in the pods. I promise you that if you disobey me, I will go straight to Scott. Go!”

  He watched her scurry away before turning toward the four men who were still grinning.

  “She’s a tough little thing, Mike.”

  “So pretty too, how can you stand spanking her?”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting my hand on that lovely little bottom and tanning it. She’s been a beast lately.”

  Michael just nodded, rubbing his head. He adjusted the neuroband on his throat to send out more images of the members of girl’s pod to protect his men and the ship. The whales calmed then scattered, sending some penguin and lemming images. He chuckled. The whales thought them to be stupid and senseless. He excused himself to return to work. She had already delayed his day with her antics.

  Making certain no one was look
ing, Sam reached behind to rub her stringing bottom. She tried to pull the shorts down past her upper thighs so no one could see the red splotches as she hurried to her father’s office. Gently tapping on the door, she entered. He was on his computer.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute, honey. Just let me finish these entries,” he said, glancing up at her. She nodded, carefully sitting in the chair across from his desk. She entwined her fingers nervously as she tried to think of what to tell him. He finally closed the laptop, removed his glasses, and looked over at her. “What’s up, sweetheart? Are those regulation shorts?”

  “No Sir. I, um, I’m in trouble again,” she stuttered, looking down.

  Dr. Quimby sighed, leaning back in his chair. ”What did you do this time, Sam?”

  She slowly explained the problems she had been causing her brother and his work, the escapes to the boom, unauthorized dives, and mouthing off to Michael in front of the men. She ended with the most recent occurrence and Michael’s order to report to him. She also told him about being spanked in front of the crew, hoping it would bring some sympathy. No such luck.

  “I see,” said her father, tapping his cheek, “Do you recall that little conversation we had about me being too nice? I understand that with the dry-docking, I’ve been too busy to spend time with you, but is this your way of getting attention?”

  “No Sir. I’m just being a brat,” she whispered truthfully. She then, reluctantly, admitted to calling in a pod.

  Dr. Quimby’s eyes flashed. “You did what? A single blue can sink this ship!” He was furious. This went beyond simple bratty behavior and it put people in danger. “You get your little butt to my quarters and wait for me. Now!”

  The girl left quickly and collided into Scott in the hallway. He asked her what was happening and she reluctantly admitted her actions. He sent her on her way with a gentle pat to her bottom and comment regarding regulation shorts. He also noticed the red marks peeking from her short line. Shaking his head, he entered Dr. Quimby’s office. “Saw our girl in the hall on her way to your quarters. I’m getting a sense I didn’t hear the whole story.”

  Dr. Quimby filled him in on details, especially about the pod. Scott’s cheek twitched. “You have got to be kidding me. Do you want me to take care of this?”

  “Nope, it’s my turn. And believe me, she’s going to be wishing it was you. See ya in a few. Oh, and please talk with your nephew regarding public discipline, especially in those shorts.”

  Dr. Quimby stomped down the hall and up the stairs towards his quarters. He saw a couple of crewmen and ordered them to clear the hall and get back to work. They scattered quickly. The commander was on the warpath and they weren’t about to get caught in the wake.

  His daughter sat contritely in a dining table chair, hands folded neatly and ankles delicately crossed. Her tanned skin glowed, making her eyes look even more intense as she looked up at him through thick, long lashes. “Daddy? I’m really sorry,” she said softly, eyes back down as he paced around her.

  “Go and get my belt out of my closet, and the brush from the head. You and I are going to have a very long, serious discussion.”

  Silently, the girl obeyed, suddenly remembering how she had asked him to be firmer with her. Penguin. Oh Lord, she was now starting to think like the whales! She handed him the implements and waited with dread for his instructions. He placed them on the table, pointing to the chair. “Sit,” he ordered. She sat.

  “When we get home, we will be enforcing more rules regarding your conduct. Until then, I expect you to follow the same rules as each man stationed here. Do you ever see any of the crew on the booms?”

  “I don’t see any of the crew being spanked in public either,” she muttered.

  Mistake.

  “Do you have anything else smart to say? No? Ok, before we start this, would you like to inform your ocean friends that I’m from your pod?”

  “I already did, Daddy.”

  He went to the couch, sitting heavily. “Come over here. I don’t know why—” he lectured, unbuttoning and unzipping her shorts before pulling them down to her ankles, “we have to keep doing this. Over my lap. Don’t think these will afford you any protection, so let’s get rid of them too,” he said, yanking her pale blue thong down. Her cheeks were still rosy from Michael’s spanking. She gripped his pant legs and combat boot tops, feeling his hand rest on her flesh.

  “I don’t think I really need to say anymore, do I? Let’s just let you concentrate on your punishment for now.” With that he began to spank her briskly, the swats becoming more pronounced and heavier. She tried so hard not to struggle but failed miserably. By 30, she was squirming, promising to be good and begging release.

  By 50 she was confessing every crime she could think of, kicking wildly to escape.

  By 100 she was a pitiful mess of tears, still jerking about, but starting to tire. That was when he stopped using his hand and went for the proverbial hairbrush.

  The sharp bite on her already burning skin made her shriek. A burst of new found energy was used in an attempt to escape, but deemed ineffective under his incredibly strong grip. He spanked one cheek after another with purpose and dedication, making certain that she would remember this episode for a long time. After at least 50 strokes, he paused to allow her to catch her breath. He also listened for the tell-tale snorting of blow-holes and was relieved that there were none.

  Sam was nothing more than a limp, tiny doll lying over his broad, muscular thighs. Her small backside was purple and blotched and he winced, knowing that it would be a while before she would be able to climb a boom or sit at her desk. But Scott was right. That little bottom could withstand a lot, and he was not finished. He needed to be a man of his word. He stood her up, wiping her face with his hand while handing her a tissue.

  “Blow,” he ordered, noticing the shaking in her legs as she tried to stand straight. Yeah, she would feel this tomorrow.

  “I’m really sorry, Daddy,” she stuttered between sobs.

  “You aren’t the only one. To my room, please.”

  Barely able to walk, the girl tried to obey quickly. She knew what was coming, the dreaded belt.

  Dr. Quimby placed two pillows on the end of the bed and ordered her over them. Unable to look at him, she meekly submitted and clutched the blanket tightly as she buried her face in the soft fabric. Dr. Quimby touched her bottom, making certain there was no skin breakage but plenty of bruising. He patted her gently.

  “How many do you think you deserve?” he asked. She only started to cry some more. How could she say anything? But he waited patiently.

  “I don’t know,” she wailed.

  He walked across the room, the leather belt jingling in his hand. “You have no idea? No preference?”

  “I have a preference, none,” she answered, winded. She knew he was giving her some time to prepare.

  “I see. How many do you think Uncle Scott would give you?”

  Her sudden cry got his attention. He knew Scott was hard on her and he witnessed the results at that moment. Scott would not be giving her an option and judged the effectiveness of his discipline by reaction and pushing her to the limit. Her fear of Scott’s disappointment was well-founded. It was time she felt the same about her father.

  “Hmmm, that many? I want you to count. You will receive 20 strokes with this belt. That bottom is not to budge. I understand that Scott uses a do-over clause. That will also apply to me in this circumstance. Understand?”

  “I’m sorrrrrrrrrry, Daddy! Pleeeeeeease don’t!”

  “Start counting.”

  Sam bawled out the numbers, trying so hard to mind him but finding it almost impossible. She kicked her feet as she gripped the bedcover, unable to utter an intelligible word once she reached the tenth count. Dr. Quimby quickly finished the final 10, concentrating on her sit spots and upper thighs, and then placed the belt down near her head. He sat next to her, his warm hand gently stroking her back as he swallowed his own tears. He hat
ed to bring her so much pain, but Scott was right. It was better from those who loved her than some drug runner she intercepted. This type of pain only prevented sitting, the other could mean death.

  “I love you baby,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. She curled into a ball on his lap and sobbed into his shirt as she gripped it tightly. He rocked her gently, soothing her while kissing her head. “Shhhh, it’s over. It’s ok. Go on, you can cry. I’ll stay here as long as you need me.”

  Sam’s tears seemed to have no end and she fell asleep crying in his arms within the hour. Ever so gently, he put her into his bed and covered her with a sheet. After placing a bottle of water and a box of tissues on his end table, he returned to work.

  A couple of hours later, he called his son to his office. Dr. Quimby beckoned for him to enter and have a seat. Closing the door behind him, Michael obeyed and waited for his father to speak. “Your sister will be out of commission for a couple of days, I’m afraid. She won’t be giving you any problems for a while.”

  “I’m sorry it had to go that way, but I didn’t think you would appreciate either the direct defiance or the pod thing,” Michael said quietly.

  “You are correct. I finally understand Scott’s reasoning. I think I made him out to be a softie today.”

  “Wow, you must have really laid it on her. Poor thing.”

  “She’ll survive. Mike, I don’t want you ever to leave the bruises we have had to, ok? Let Scott and me be the hard asses. And I really don’t want you disciplining her in public again.”

  “Dad, she pushed it in front of the men. I spoke with Scott already and he agreed this was not out of line. I didn’t expose her.”

  “Ok, just try to be discreet if you can help it. I trust your judgment.”

  “You don’t look so hot,” Michael said with concern.

  “I don’t feel so hot. This really drained me. I don’t know how Scott does it.”

  “Many more years practice, my friend. I had a kid sister who pushed every button I had plus one’s I didn’t,” Scott said, entering without knocking. He plopped in the chair next to Michael. “Tough session, huh?”