Rocky Mountain Discipline

by Lee Savino

“We need help here,” Lyle pointed out.

  “I accepted the commission.” Jesse shrugged. “Can’t back out now.” Standing, he went to the door and slung up his rifle. “I’ll tent here a few nights. Shoot a few pheasant, maybe a buck. Least I can do, leave you some meat.”

  “That should help us. As long as Rose doesn’t cook it.” Lyle put a fond hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shook it off.

  “You’ll be lucky if I ever cook for you again,” she hissed, rising and stomping away to do the washing up.

  “That’s what you get for marrying a redhead,” Jesse said to his brother, clapping on his black hat. “All spit and vinegar.”

  “But damned fine to look at,” Lyle drawled. “And catches fire like you wouldn’t believe. You should be so lucky.”

  She whirled to give them both a piece of her mind, and her foot kicked the water bucket and sent water splashing into the fire.

  The steam went up, and she staggered back with a gasp. Lyle was at her back at once, steadying her before handing her the bucket.

  “Her housekeeping skills leave something to be desired.” Jesse laughed.

  “Get out,” Rose shrieked and threw the bucket. The youngest Wilder ducked out of the cabin before the missile hit the door frame.

  “Calm yourself, Rose.” Lyle had a grin.

  “You too,” she snapped at him. “You were making fun of me.”

  “Just teasing, darlin’. It’s what we do with family.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Not without a kiss.” His lips descended, but she turned her face away. Lyle planted one on her cheek and walked out, still chuckling.

  Still fuming, Rose swept up the mess. How could she be a good wife when she’d never had a hearth or home? On the wagon trail, she’d helped make food, but more often her payment was a song and a dance. Lyle deserved a better wife than she.

  With that unhappy thought, she tied back her hair in a kerchief and went to get water. She couldn’t cook, or sew, or do much of anything, but she could scrub floors and do the washing. If nothing else, her house and clothes would be clean.

  Doing the washing turned out to be a nasty chore that left her dirty all over. Late afternoon, she looked up from her scrubbing to see her husband dismounting. A day’s labor and every hair on his head was in place. Even his stallion gleamed.

  She rather hated him. He strode up, grinning at her as she sat back on her heels and wrung out the rag she’d been using to wash the cabin floor.

  “Long day, my love?”

  Blowing out her cheeks, she looked around the cabin. She’d pulled the table and chair to one side and used them as a place to hang the clothes to dry. Then she’d dragged the pallet outside, hung it over the corral fence and beat it until she was covered in dust. The floor was still wet in some places, but the rough floor boards looked fresher.

  Wiping a hand across her forehead she replied, “Too short, and yet too long.”

  Leaning down, Lyle swiped at her cheek with his thumb. “Got some dirt smudges on you.”

  “Oh.” She jerked back and wiped at her face with the back of her forearm.

  “Now it’s worse,” Lyle observed, and took the rag from her hand. “Why don’t you go wash up? Jesse and I will put things back together and make dinner.”

  Trying not to show her hurt, she stormed off in the direction of the stream. Try as she might, she could not find her place in Lyle’s world. He should’ve married a sweet wife, someone who would do his bidding, cook his dinner and darn his damn socks.

  It didn’t help that during dinner Lyle brought up their visit with the Donovans. Jesse leaned back in his chair and whistled. “That little Carrie. Sweetest flower for miles.”

  “Don’t let Miles hear you talk of his wife with any disrespect.” Lyle paused in eating to rub his jaw, wincing as if remembering an old blow.

  “I don’t mean any disrespect. If I had a wife like that. Of course, it’s too late for you. You got a little spit fire.”

  “I did so,” Lyle grunted, and Rose’s temper flared. Her rage was towards him, not Jesse. Jesse was a scoundrel. But Lyle was her husband and should defend her.

  “Coffee?” She shoved her chair back, then stomped to the fire. Returning with the coffee pot, she slammed it down.

  Now both men were grinning at her, and for a second, she considered flinging the hot liquid at them.

  “I’ll take some.” Jesse pushed his cup forward, and she poured for all of them.

  “I made Indian pudding.” Lyle got up to go to the hearth. “Last time Rose tried a dessert, we almost lost the Dutch oven. I scraped burnt bits out of the bottom for half a morning. Whatever she was cooking turned to coal.”

  Her husband would tell that story on the heels of holding up Carrie Donovan as an ideal wife. Rose almost ground her teeth, then had a better idea. Quickly, before Lyle could turn around, Rose leaned forward and spit into his coffee cup. She sat back, staring at Jesse, daring him to say anything.

  The younger Wilder raised an eyebrow at her, but when his brother came back and dished out the pudding, he said nothing of her prank.

  The pudding, of course, was delicious.

  “This is good cookin’, Lyle.” Jesse wiped his mouth. “You’ll make a fine wife for a man one day.” The young Wilder ducked as Lyle swiped at him.

  Watching their teasing, Rose felt a little better.

  “Coffee’s nice and strong, too.” Jesse winked at Rose.

  She glared at him, and Jesse stood, laughing. “I like you, sister.” He leaned down and kissed her hair.

  It was Lyle’s turn to frown at his brother, but Jesse was halfway to the door.

  “I’m going to bed down near the stables. Give you two lovers some privacy.”

  Lyle turned to her. “Care to let me in on the joke?”

  “No.” Rose stood and cleared the dishes, including Lyle’s half eaten pudding. “It wasn’t funny.”

  When she finished stacking things in the washing bucket to soak, she turned to find her husband watching her thoughtfully.

  “Rose, come here.”

  “If I don’t, will you spank me?”

  His eyebrows went up. “Yes.”

  Stomping to his side, she rolled her eyes as he situated her between his knees. His hands grasped hers, and she hated how her body leapt in excitement at his touch.

  “All right, darlin’, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me now, Rose. You’ve been moody and quiet for a few days.”

  “I thought I was doing well.” She tried to twist her hands out of his grip.

  “You are. It’ll take a while for you to settle in.”

  She laughed without mirth. “Settle in? I hate this, Lyle. I don’t belong here. I’m Rosie May, remember? I live in hotels and get my meals from my hosts, or my patrons. I don’t cook. I don’t clean. And I certainly don’t darn socks!” she finished with a shout.

  “No one’s asking you to—”

  “No one says it, but they’re all looking to Carrie Donovan and saying what a perfect little wife she is. Sweet Carrie Donovan.” Her tone turned sarcastic.

  “Don’t talk about her that way,” he said sharply. “You’ll treat my friends with respect.”

  Rose pulled away and Lyle stood, watching her pace the room. “Of course you would defend her. She’s so pretty and meek, just the sort of wife a man needs. You should’ve married her.”

  “I don’t want her. I want you.”

  “Why, Lyle? Because you think I’m like Mary? A beautiful face, and an even more lovely soul? I have news for you, I was tarnished long ago. I may not be a soiled dove, but I’m sullied all the same.”

  He shook his head, brow furrowing. His confusion enraged her. “Rose, you’re not sullied or tarnished.”

  “Don’t you see? I don’t belong here. Maybe if you hired men to come pan for gold, I could dance for them. I can’t be a housewife, but I could be camp woman. I’d give the
most marvelous entertainment.” Her mouth twisted.

  “No, you won’t,” Lyle growled. “Your dancing days are over. You’re my wife, now; you won’t dance for any man but me.”

  “As if I would dance for you.” She tossed her head and strode off.

  Lyle caught up with her before she reached the door, and took hold of her arm. “Do not walk away from me.”

  “Get off me!”

  “Rose, stop. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Anywhere but here.” She tried to wrench her arm away, and when he wouldn’t let go, she cursed at him. “These past few days are a fairy tale, but it isn’t real. I’ll never be the perfect wife you want. I’m just a bit of calico and pleasant in the sack.”

  “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Lyle shook her.

  “Have you ever thought about how hard it is for me? I’ve never done this before. Just let me go!” She struggled, but he was stronger and had her across the room, crowding her back against the wall. Every muscle in his body stood taut and ready for the fight.

  “You’re not going back, Rose. Not ever.”

  She slapped him hard across the face.

  He caught her wrists, pulling her closer. “I think you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.”

  She kicked at him, even as her heart picked up speed.

  Turning her, and forcing her arm behind her back, he marched her to the chair.

  She shouted and kicked, but after a few seconds she found herself bare bottomed and unbalanced over his knees.

  “I think you know you earned this, Rose. You will not speak in disrespect of anyone. I will not tolerate talk against me, our friends, or even you.” He started spanking her, lighter slaps that resounded on her bare skin.

  “Stop it, you blackguard!” She thrashed her feet, and he smacked her harder, in warning.

  “Do I have to tie you down? Because if I do, I’ll get the strop.”

  She hesitated, thinking of the harsh punishment by the riverside, then shook her head.

  “You must learn to control your temper.” Lyle’s hand resumed punishing her, beating in time to his words. Rose whimpered and squealed as the hits warmed her body, and her buttocks slowly started to burn. “I know you like to fight, and we’re gonna disagree on things now and then, but that doesn’t mean we throw away what have. You don’t walk away from me.”

  She cried out, more from his words than from the harsh smacks. Her bottom was throbbing, but so were her lady parts, responding to his dominance. As the spanking continued, she felt herself slide into submission. Lyle kept on, spanking up one cheek and down the other with an iron palm. It hurt, but she found herself able to accept the pain. Her body relaxed over his muscular legs, her face to the floor and hanging limply so her hair almost brushed the floorboards.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and shuddered with the knowledge that she truly regretted her hasty action.

  He gave her a few more good ones on her sits spots, and though she winced, she didn’t struggle. When he stopped, he rested one hand in the small of her back and the other on her thigh. She waited for him to move, staying quiet and still. Somehow, some way, Lyle Wilder had tamed her.

  At last he drew her up to stand between his legs, a pose she’d taken earlier that night, before she’d lost control of her temper. Her hair fell into her face and he stroked back the red strands.

  “What are you sorry for, darlin’?”

  Looking in his honest eyes while she confessed her wrongs seemed much worse than the spanking. She took a deep breath. “I made fun of Carrie, even though she’s only been a friend to me. I called you a blackguard, and threatened to leave you.”

  Hands on her hips, he pulled her closer. His voice was serious but she could tell he was pleased. “Anything else?”

  She hesitated, then confessed. “I spit into your coffee at dinner.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “I was angry. I haven’t done it before,” she added quickly. “Just this once.”

  His head dropped for a moment. Standing before him, all she could see was his thick, dark hair. Finally, he looked back at her, his expression caught somewhere between laughter and exasperation.

  “And what do you think should be your punishment for that?”

  “Not the strop,” she answered immediately.

  “Not sure you deserve that. What you did was very disrespectful, though.” A little smile appeared on his face. “Can’t have you spitting into the food and drink. Not when you’ve just learned to make it.

  She stiffened and he caught her hand. “Hey, you’re doing well. I’m proud of you for everything you’ve come through, and how you carry on. You must know that. But I’ll stop teasing you.” His fingers squeezed hers. “I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I apologize.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Thank you.”

  He stood, and her head tilted to look up at him.

  “I’m going to finish punishing you,” he said. “You’re to follow my lead and obey every command I give you, but if you are good—and I mean, very good—you’ll get a reward.” The promise in his deep voice brought pink to her cheeks, and an expectant ache lower down.

  “Yes, Lyle.”

  “Good girl. Take off your clothes.”

  She stripped quickly, not bothering to tease him. Her husband watched with arms folded, the blue fire in his eyes the only break from his stern expression. As her layers came off, she felt more and more exposed. Showing skin was her way of taking control of her audience, but Lyle took that power away. A part of her wanted to hide from his penetrating gaze, but the rest her wanted to obey, to follow his lead and submit fully, if only it would please him.

  When the last item fell to the floor, he nodded. “Very good. Go lean over the table.”

  She did, and he came with a blanket so she could lay her front down without damaging her tender skin on roughhewn wood.

  “This can be punishment, or it can be play,” he told her as his fingers traced patterns over her back. “Spread for me, darlin’. Wider. That’s it.” He parted her legs, and she settled her feet further apart. She shivered, but not with cold.

  Lyle disappeared for a moment and she waited, bottom smarting, legs wide and lady parts dripping. When he returned, he paused behind her then let out a low whistle.

  “That’s the prettiest site this side of the mountains. Your sweet little cunny all on display.” His fingers dipped between her legs and her knees started to draw together, but he whipped his hand away and laid two sharp smacks on either cheek.

  “Push your bottom up,” he ordered. “Higher. Let me see you.” She heard him move and then felt hot breath on her lady parts. “Now that’s nice. Your bottom’s all red and your pussy’s all pink.”

  She stayed very still, not daring to breathe, as his tongue touched her lower lips. His breath warmed her flesh as his tongue began to explore.

  “Lyle,” she moaned, and he put his hands on the back of her thighs to keep her legs apart.

  “Stay still, Rose. Don’t move.”

  As he kept licking her, she found it impossible to keep from arching her back, pushing herself closer to his mouth.

  “Naughty, naughty Rose,” he growled, pulling back and laying a few more lazy strikes on her flaming bottom. She yipped, but the hits didn’t really hurt, just inflamed her further.

  “Please, Lyle.”

  “That’s it, my lovely. Beg me.” His mouth kissed up one thigh and then the other, never quite reaching the point she wanted.

  “Please, please. I’ll be so good,” she whispered. Her eyes stayed closed, her thoughts completely focused on his little licks and touches, drawing ever closer to the center.

  “You better be. Next time you run from me, I’ll tie you here, and use a switch, the strop and my hand until your ass is bright red.” He kissed higher, his stubble scraping her raw bottom before his mouth travelled lower. “Then I’ll tease you and leave you wanting for hour
s, waiting for me.” His tongue found her lower folds and she sighed.

  He pulled away and stood up, and she sagged in desperation, then started to rise.

  “Stay.” He unleashed a flurry of spanks onto her cheeks. To her surprise, instead of cringing, she pushed her bottom higher, trying to meet his hand, her body begging for stimulation. “Do I have to tie you down?”

  “No, Lyle.”

  “Good girl.” His fingers slipped between her legs, checking her wetness. When they disappeared, she kept still.

  When he returned, she felt an object tapping her bottom. She looked back just in time for him to smack her with a wooden spoon.

  She yelped.

  “Since you misbehaved while cooking, I’ll make sure you think of your punishment every time you’re at the hearth.”

  The spoon popped her again, making her jump. Lyle peppered her aching bum until her apology poured out of her nonstop.

  “Quiet.” He put his strop between her teeth, and she bit down on the leather, reminded that things could be much worse.

  The spanking went on so long she feared her bottom would burst into flame.

  “Spread for me,” he ordered, and popped her on the inside of her thighs when she didn’t obey right away. Rose moaned, guessing what was coming.

  The spoon lightly tapped her lady parts, pain and pleasure exploding through her. Her knees knocked together, and he smacked her bottom, hard until she separated her legs. Trembling, jaw clenched on the strop, she waited for the next blow to fall.

  Instead, her husband smoothed a hand down her back. “You’re doing so good, my lovely.” Carefully, he slid the spoon between her lower lips, the smooth wood touching just enough to stimulate her. Her eyes squeezed shut, every fiber of her being focused on the sensation.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned when he took the spoon away.

  “Be still, Rose.” She could hear the wicked smile in his voice. “You deserve this. A treat.” She heard him kneel, and then gasped as he put his mouth to her and lapped until she was clawing at the table, overwhelmed by sensation. No part of her could avoid his lips, and when she tried to move, he gripped her hips and held her still for his probing tongue.

  He drew away and sucked on her lower lips, then licked up the inside of her thighs, drawing ever closer to her aching center.