Copyright 1999 to <mijita@thetreehouse.net>. Please respect this copyright. Don't distribute or archive this story in any way except for personal use without explicit permission. No, it's not in the public domain. Ask first, okay? Thanks.

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[Image of Little Miss Naughty] The Sea-Shore
by Mija

The boy and girl walked along a sea-shore far from the girl's sunny home. The beach was cold, with dark sand and white seashells. The lonely path to the shoreline passed through a treeless golf course where hardy men drove into the wind. The two walked by as though invisible, climbing over dunes and rocks towards the water.

They stood at water's edge. Looking south, the landscape was industrial, even post-industrial. He pointed out the factories, shipyards and nuclear power station. Looking north, the dunes and grass rolled endlessly as they had since before the last millennium.

Burned-out bonfire traces were the only sign other people had ever been there. The boy and girl were alone, finally.

"An amazing place," she said.

"This is where I'm from," he said simply, with quiet pride.

Looking into his eyes, she saw emotions matching her own. She shivered. He saw, as always, watching her closely.

"Let's go."

He walked toward the dunes, toward the path back to the world. She followed slowly. Despite the cold the girl wanted to stay and stomped, whining.

As they reached the dunes and climbed up, she realised they weren't heading back to the path, but to a sheltered point between two dunes. Her eyes focused on the rock in the center. He faced her.

"You know what I want." His face was set, emotionless.

The girl leaned over the rock, expecting to feel his palm on the seat of her jeans. Instead, over the wind she heard metal click then jingle. Panicked, she breathed raggedly and struggled, finally feeling his hand on her back. Reaching up she wound her hands in the grass that grew from the rocks above.

"Still!" he said, smacking her hard with the doubled belt.

She kicked up one foot. He struck hard enough to hurt through her jeans. Again and again, the belt came down, each time hard, leaving her gasping with no time to recover. She pulled the rough grass. Just as a cry came from the girl's lips he stopped and embraced her.

The girl held onto him, whimpering a little.

"You know I'm not done."

She hadn't known, but now did.

"See those golfers?" She looked down at the men playing. "When they move on, your jeans are coming down, and I'm going to thrash your bare bottom, hard."

She looked at his belt and the sand between her feet.

"Look at me. Why will I do that?"

The girl looked into his eyes. "I need you to."

The boy returned the girl's stare, his expression open. In his mind he heard her cries, saw stripes on her skin, imagined the pink glow now beneath her jeans. He unbuttoned her jeans as she clasped her hands behind her head.

"And I want to," the boy said. "You belong to me."

She nodded.

They turned their backs on the sea and patiently watched the golfers play through.

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